The Legacy
by storytellerSpW
Summary: After Sirius' death, Harry stumbles upon a book which opens his eyes as he delves into the mysteries of magic, learns about the realities of a war, and shifts towards the Grey. Life could be so easy if only there wasn't that scheming Slytherin entering his life in an unexpected manner. And in the end, there is always a price to be paid for everything. HP/DG Contract, AU 6-7th year
1. The Lost Life

Posted 10/18/2013, Edited 11/5/2013

.

**Alright, so what is this about? Well, I can't tell you everything, of course –that would be plain boring, right? But since this story will take some time and will end up very well into the six digit word count, some sort of introductory comment is in order.**

**.**

**The story consists of two main threads, the first being Harry's preparations for the war and his role in it, the second dealing with his love life, or rather, the lack of such. Depending on your interpretation, it branches off either between the books five and six or during the talk with Dumbledore in his office, but it makes no difference. Troll? Fought and done with. Basilisk and diary? Killed and destroyed. Sirius? Escaped, hidden, lured into the Ministry, killed. Tri-Wizard Tournament? Done and won. You get the idea. And yes, the diary was what it had been in canon. There might be some added events, fitting into hitherto untold time periods in the past, for example, the years at Privet Drive before Hogwarts, but I don't intend to change events that have been described up until the talk with Dumbledore; that being said, I cannot guarantee the same for the _interpretation_ of any incidents from canon.**

**.**

**But I digress. So here is what you can expect:**

**- Clarifications on magic, some important, other not, some in contrast with canon, others not.**

**You can think of them as explanation attempts for some details here and there, mostly to connect the dots. It is explained in the story and concerns mostly the Mind Arts as well as magic as a whole, mainly how and why it works. Since I dislike the canonical definition of Arithmancy as 'Studying the magical properties of numbers, including predicting the future with numerology', I gave it a slightly different purpose. I mean, come on, up to five years of that in Hogwarts alone? For what reason? I tried an explanation of Runes as well, especially the underlying rules and concepts of the art itself. Also a slight addition to Horcruxes, mainly because it made so much sense.**

**- Character and story development.**

**No love on page one, child by the third chapter. No sudden, but unmentioned best friend of the trio who weathered all of their adventures, yet was always just outside the room or frame whenever the books focused on them. No surprise relatives popping up all over the place. No mountains of gold drowning Harry. No sudden Ron the Death Eater either; Luna and the Sorting Hat are a different matter, though. It is meant as a story, telling a journey of sorts; for that reason, characters will develop (hopefully in a reasonable fashion).**

**There will be Daphne Greengrass, and she will play a bit of an important role. With how little we know about her, I took some liberties with her character; the longer I worked on the story, the more she grew in an unexpected way and gained more background than I intended, and not necessarily the popular Ice Queen personality either, out to break hearts and heads of boys. If that bothers you and you cannot live without that, well, tough luck.**

**I don't mind harming characters. Why should I? Torturing them is half the fun, and what doesn't kill them, makes them stronger. Or traumatizes them, I guess, but that's also way too much fun to stop me. I'm just saying. I don't want anyone complaining about me not thinking of the children.**

**Since it is not canon, I allowed myself some small, but important alterations/additions to the wizarding world, marriage contracts being the main one. I explain the rules of those in the story, so just wait for a while.**

**No harem. Sorry, I know some people like them, but I have another direction to go and already far too much to deal with. Besides, writing more than one relationship will just bloat the story even more.**

**So there you go.**

**.**

**This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.**

* * *

**Chapter One – The Lost Life**

.

_'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives … the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies …'_

The voice that had echoed in the office just moments ago fell silent, and the silvery figure sank back into the Pensieve. The portraits looked on with baited breaths. Dumbledore watched Harry sitting in front of his desk, waited for a sign, or a reaction. Part of him was tempted – Oh, so tempted to take a peek into the boy's mind –but knew better than to try; everyone who knew the Headmaster could see the temptation lurking behind those eyes, and yet would have known the old man would not give in. Had he not learned his lesson? He could not dare to give in, to follow these selfish notions, his curiosity. His need to prove himself had never led him to any success but instead to ruination. And so he waited, ignoring his exhaustion.

Inside Harry, an all-consuming fire was raging, threatening to burst forth, but held back for the moment. Anger at Dumbledore for his part, for his lack of action and foresight, at his own powerless state and lack of caution, anger at the Ministry for failing at the most rudimentary of tasks –keeping the people save, something they had so shamefully neglected in their stubbornness –mixed with fierce hatred at Bellatrix and her chosen master for ever crossing his path. Fury directed at Snape's... at Snape, merely for existing, for not jumping into action, but just standing by, at Hermione for not stopping him in his foolishness, at Neville for blindly following, at Luna for being far too nice to really hate her for anything, at Ron for being such an idiot to get cursed with whatever had made him lose his mind for a time, at Ginny for getting hurt during their escape... Why had he, Harry, who had been told Voldemort could enter his mind, believed the vision? He had been an idiot, blinded by his fears. He should have realized they were walking into a trap when they hadn't met a single Ministry worker.

But worse than the flames coursing through his veins was perhaps the din in his mind –as if hundreds of voices were sounding in his ears, each one louder than the last. Harry heard what sounded like a Ron stumbling through his best attempts at a laughable consolation, a Hermione, reminding him in a slightly superior tone how she had foreseen the trap and had tried to warn him only to have him not listen to her as he usually did, a Dudley laughing at Harry's misfortune just like he had done in the past, Piers Polkins out of breath hissing cruel taunts and threats far too close to the ear just like he had always done when he had held someone's arms behind their back in the tone that could make the skin crawl, Mrs. Cooper from elementary school brushing off Harry like always, Mr. Baker, bored as he had been each time Harry had heard him, explaining slowly why, exactly, it had been Harry's fault something had happened –even if he hadn't been anywhere near the scene –and a Bellatrix, mocking him for his completely ineffective fury. The soothing of Sirius Harry overheard, fearing the words. Harry knew it had been his fault –who else's could it have been? –and nothing the soundalike said would ever change that simple fact. Mrs. Weasley's voice resounded as if amplified by magic in his mind, mourning the loss only half-heartedly as she would most likely do in real life –Sirius and she had been on less than cordial terms, again a fault of Harry's. And, as always, there was also a Dumbledore who was trying to find comforting words all the while the ever-present Snape murmured his taunts and cruelties that everyone else chose to overhear about Harry, his father and 'the mutt'.

Finally, Harry moved. The fire threatened to consume him, or maybe break free and burn the man in front of him, and Harry couldn't even be angry at the force of nature waiting to be unleashed. And yet he found himself wanting to have even more fuel for his hatred of Dumbledore. It was for that reason he felt himself saying, "This has to do with me, hasn't it? It's me, right?" His voice was calm, measured. "This prophecy? I have to... fight him?"

A good sign, Dumbledore seemed to decide from his expression. Truly, the boy –young man, really –was far more mature than anyone ever gave him credit for. "Yes and no, Harry. The prophecy spoke of a boy 'born as the seventh month dies', a boy whose parents defied Voldemort on three separate occasions. That part could have applied to both you and young Mr. Longbottom, as both sets of parents had done so. And you were both born at the end of July of 1980. Technically, it could have also meant a boy born in late July of any of the following years. However, Voldemort had never heard anything more than the first half of the prophecy, everything after 'born as the seventh month dies' is still only known to the two of us. Based on what had actually reached his... well, him, Voldemort went and tried to eliminate the potential threat to his existence. He chose to go after you, the half-blood. We know what happened, of course. 'The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal', and so he did. So for what it is worth, the prophecy means you, yes, but mainly, because Voldemort made it so by attacking your family. It is true and will be fulfilled, because of Voldemort's decisions. Fate can sometimes be rather peculiar in that manner."

Harry seemed to mull this information over in his head. In truth, however, his mind had long since made the connections, or rather, the Hermione in his mind had and was exasperatedly telling him off for taking so very long to see the conclusion, the one he didn't want to accept, the truth at the centre of these ploys and games surrounding him.

But he needed to know.

"So... I have some unknown power to defeat Voldemort?"

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "A power He knows not, Harry. Either one Voldemort honestly doesn't know because his studies never revealed it to him, or one he doesn't understand. I think it is the latter. You see..."

But Harry interrupted him, longing to hear the words from the Headmaster. "'...and either must die at the hand of the other...'"

"That is the only possible outcome, I think, but only due to your personalities. Neither will Voldemort stop in his quest to eliminate the one threat to his dominance, his one weakness –you –nor will you, I believe and hope, stop opposing him. Think of all he has taken –all the loss he has caused –even just from you! Will you step aside; let others burden the pain, the struggle? Ultimately, you could try to refuse the calling, let others battle Voldemort, but will he respect your wishes?"

"So we will fight until one of us is dead," Harry concluded in the same calm tone. The noise in his head was nearly overwhelming, growing louder each moment, and the fire burned hotter than ever. How long until it would burst forth? Would his magic react, perhaps by causing accidental magic like it had done in third year when he had blown up his aunt? But then, why hadn't it already done so? His skin prickled, perhaps as a reaction to the boiling magic waiting to wreak havoc.

"Don't forget the prophecy, Harry! The battle will continue until one of you is dead, yes. But then, you also have 'the power the Dark Lord knows not', and unless you consider yourself said Dark Lord," here the Headmaster smiled again, despite the gravity of the situation, „then you have an advantage. He has experience and knowledge, both of which are not infallible and, more importantly, not unique. In due time, you too will gain both, but still keep 'the power the Dark Lord knows not'. With each passing day the scales tip more and more in your favour."

Harry had trouble hearing the words. „And you've known this for almost sixteen years." It was a statement, not a question.

"Harry, I did what I could to avert harm from you. I tried to shield you from the truth, like I said, until you were ready to bear the burden. The prophecy stopped offering useful information the night your parents died."

"You used it for your reasoning just moments ago. That I'd have a special power. How can it be useless then, if it told you that?" His tone had gained a definite edge. The lack of proper address wasn't lost on Dumbledore, but he apparently chose to overlook it. At the moment, he had far more important business to deal with. And wouldn't it seem hypocritical to scold Harry for lack of proper address when he very rarely showed Harry that respect?

"And it still offered no knowledge I didn't already have. Harry, the power is not a hidden talent, no special skill that I or anyone else can teach. It is simply love. Your love for Sirius led you into the Ministry, your love for your friends drove you to learn powerful defensive spells to protect them, because of your love for your fellow man you step forward, you face the danger, you face evils others flee from in blind terror and even your worst fears, you shoulder the burdens, willingly, so others are safe. Also, why do you want to be an Auror? You will understand it one day. That, Harry, is your power. You care for others and want to protect the innocent, something Voldemort literally can't understand. He gathers followers to achieve his goals; he corrupts, tortures and murders, sometimes without any gain at all apart from his sick pleasure. He gathers those around him who are of the same kind. I have never heard of a Death Eater who could produce a Patronus. Why should they want to? They have no interest in protection and certainly don't need it. Dementors are their natural allies, both revelling in the pain they cause.

"It is for that special part of you, something Voldemort will not understand, that the prophecy offered no valuable information after your parents' death because the power you have is one you have because of who you are, not some secret magic. And as I have already explained, you will fight him until one of you dies, simply because no other outcome is possible in the battle of two stubborn wills. Your final confrontation is inevitable. Voldemort won't stop until he has bested you or died trying, and you will stop him from harming others, because you love too much to let him go unhindered."

Harry felt the scream build in his throat. The raging fire had become too much, it needed to escape, and Dumbledore deserved every insult and curse Harry longed to throw at him. He opened his mouth to shout, to call the Headmaster an idiot, to demand more information or whether this was some sick joke (the voices of Hermione and Snape agreeing enthusiastically, albeit for completely different reasons), but no sound left him. Instead, in the blink of an eye, an eerie calm washed over him, his mind deafeningly silent and clear as the starry, cloudless night sky in midwinter. Harry let his eye wander through the room. The many instruments were puffing just like before, but he didn't really pay their appearance much attention. A tingling sensation distracted him, a feeling that he associated with the presence of something out of the ordinary and yet different. It was familiar, as if it had been with him for as long as he could remember, as if something was calling to it. His eyes found Dumbledore again.

"Now that you know," the Headmaster began, "you may trash the room or, if you want to, direct your anger at me."

Harry looked at the man in front of him. He had wanted to rage just moments ago, but found he had no interest in doing so. The fire was still there, but he had it under control. He had nothing to gain by giving in to his wishes and desires. Why should he vent? Dumbledore wouldn't suffer any permanent harm, it would be detrimental if he did, and his interference really wouldn't vanish if Harry did lash out.

"No," Harry found himself say, "I don't want to." Had he always been so calm? It didn't matter. He had to defeat Voldemort, or be crushed by him. A ruthless wizard with over fifty years of experience against a barely talented and inadequately trained boy. Why hadn't Dumbledore arranged some private lessons? Duelling with Professor Flitwick. Advanced Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. Anything to prepare the hope of the wizarding world for the task ahead.

Nine years condemned to the treatment at the hands of the Dursleys, to keep them safe. Nine years of punishments, of bruises and insults, of hours of work and withheld food, to protect them from a very unlikely danger they were in only because he had been with them in the first place. Whatever the motivation, his placement with his relatives hadn't prepared him for the final confrontation, had it? And then? Five years. Five additional years Harry had been kept in the dark. Five years, wasted because the Headmaster had wanted to shield Harry from his destiny. Why hadn't Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall or, really, anyone taken the time to steer Harry, advised him on his path? Divination? Care of Magical Creatures? What good would those classes do in a fight against a dark wizard five decades his senior?

But no matter. The prophecy was effectively Harry's death penalty either way. In a way, it was strangely comforting; unlike most, Harry now knew how he would die –at the hands of Voldemort, condemning the world and leaving it at the nonexistent mercy of the current Dark Lord.

As if someone had used a switch, Harry woke up. That dream again about the talk in Dumbledore's office. Or should it be called a memory? He wasn't sure, as they had started to blend together, his real experiences and the worst possible assumptions his mind could come up with. Either way, Harry's eyes snapped open. The room was a blurry darkness, which told him that it was still very early. But Harry couldn't sleep anymore. He would surely end up returning to that memory, to that morning over a month ago. No, sleep was not an option. If he had had his Firebolt with him, it wouldn't have been a problem. He could have passed the time until everyone else rose, rested and ready for a new day, by servicing his trusted broom with his kit. But Mrs. Weasley had insisted that it had to be locked up like all the other brooms, to be fair to Ron, who hadn't been allowed to keep his with him either. Harry idly wondered whether the broom-servicing kit Hermione had given him had been meant as an inside joke and innuendo, from Muggleborn to Muggle-raised, but ultimately returned to his original train of thought of what to occupy himself with for the next –he glanced out of the window –three hours, he guessed until sunrise.

He could look through his books from past years. Hermione would be thrilled and Ron shocked if they ever learned about him reading his books in the middle of the night. But how would that be useful? He was already fairly advanced in Defence and would need practical training most of all. Transfiguration and Charms required the practical application as well –and Harry was better at using the spells than reading about the theory behind them anyway. It just felt wrong to break the Decree, not with his track record, even if Dumbledore had confided in him that the Ministry couldn't identify the caster and only went by the location of the spell to track under-age magic, so spellcasting was not an option. Herbology was the most practical class he knew apart from Care of Magical Creatures –because Hagrid disliked reading lengthy essays –only rivalled by Potions as taught by Snape. Hermione would of course disagree, pointing out the numerous assignments they had had to write for the greasy git, and in a way she was right. But in Harry's case, doing the assignments had rarely been worth the effort. Snape would sooner start a sensational singing career as the Lead of a Boy Band than grade the son of his childhood enemy fairly. And as useful as Potions knowledge was to Harry, he simply couldn't forget the acquired dislike for that course. Astronomy? Divination? History? None of these would be of significance to Harry.

His classmates would begin their own lives in a few short years, but it wasn't meant to be, not for him, at least. He, Harry, would continue his course towards his ultimate destiny and end. The only question was how he would meet it: Cowering at the feet of a megalomaniac, too weak to cause any change, or standing upright, fighting, and taking as many Death Eaters with him as he could? It had taken over a day until Harry had realized the truth he had said in the broom shed with Dumbledore. Life was too short –his, at least –and when his time would come, he would fight until his dying breath, maybe even taking Voldemort with him.

The last subject to consider for that goal, Care of Magical Creatures, certainly wasn't boring. In fact, with Hagrid teaching, it was anything but boring. Yet Harry was already decently familiar with a lot of creatures, and with the sheer number of possible beasts in Voldemort's service, that class wouldn't prepare him efficiently and be more of a stab in the dark.

In the end, he picked up one of the books from _Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts_, the joint gift from Lupin and Sirius from previous Christmas. Even if he couldn't actually use the spells, watching the movements being performed in the pictures and reading about the spells itself would hopefully teach him a bit. As soon as he would be at Hogwarts, he would have to try to learn them properly, of course. Why did the Ministry have to prohibit underage magic in the first place? Didn't they know how important continuous training was?

Great, now he sounded like Hermione, he mused. But still, she had a point. If he wasn't able to fly over the summer at the Weasley's, his skills on the pitch and broom would surely suffer severely, and the same had to apply to his other abilities as well.

Should he give up Quidditch? Refuse the captaincy? As much fun as the sport was, wouldn't his time be better used on Defence? But then, being Captain brought certain privileges. He would have a ready-made excuse to go out, leave the common room, supposedly to devise new plays. Or get a bit of alone time to hone his combat-skills. And Quidditch would keep him physically in shape. So no, he would stay on the team.

At shortly after half past eight, Harry put down the book and stuffed the notes he had made about one spell or the other in one of his envelopes from his past letters from Hogwarts. Those, he had decided, were the least interesting of his possessions and therefore the least likely to be searched by Mrs. Weasley. She certainly wouldn't approve of Harry, or really any of the children, to be learning any defensive magic outside of the curriculum. Dressing quickly and pocketing the letter he had written, he slipped down to breakfast.

Ron naturally wasn't up, his bed being at the very top meant little disturbance by the other occupants of the house. Harry had seen Ginny working in the chicken coop. Hermione sat opposite Harry, apart from a quick greeting reading a book about Arithmancy she had found somewhere in the house. He was happy for the silence. His thoughts were on the coming day. Would the Headmaster try to stop him at the last moment? Possible. All in the name of safety, even if Harry had already proven to be not only responsible, but had also made a decent enough plan, even if Dumbledore had his doubts.

And he wasn't the only one. Mrs. Weasley bustling around the kitchen was nothing unusual, but the many glances she threw Harry when she believed herself to be unobserved, certainly were. Even Hermione looked troubled, although for a slightly different reason. She had agreed with Harry's intentions, believed it to be 'a definite sign of maturity' and 'courage befitting the son of his parents and godson of Sirius's'. But she still felt for him, a sentiment Harry much preferred to Mrs. Weasley's mollycoddling.

He absentmindedly nibbled on his piece of toast when she made another attempt. "Harry, dear," she began, for perhaps the dozenth time in the past three days, while wringing her hands, "I don't think you should go. We vacated the house for a reason. It's not safe. And I don't think you are ready to face it yet. Wait a bit. Give it a bit of time, come to terms with it. If you push yourself too hard, you will only get hurt."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Harry replied evenly, "It was a case of questionable inheritance. I have proven myself to be the rightful owner, meaning it is safe. It is mine to do with as I please, even visit it for a short while. I want to visit it. I won't be long, and don't intend to dawdle anyway. I promise. It's just something I have to face, and it will bother me until I have done so. It will be a block, keeping me from moving forward. I need to confront it –the sooner, the better. The Headmaster has already agreed." And probably regrets it by now, Harry thought dryly.

"I know, I know. I just don't like you anywhere near that dreadful ruin he called a house." Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Hermione tensing slightly. Good, so he wasn't the only one disapproving of Mrs. Weasley's comment. Grimmauld Place, for all its history, was still Harry's property and Sirius' legacy that had kept them out of harm's way for the last year. While not being a proper home in his opinion, it was still not nice to talk bad about it just because it was in poor condition.

"With all due respect," Harry began, but before he could figure out what he wanted to say, a soft knock on the door stopped him. Immediately Mrs. Weasley whipped around, wand in hand. Harry guessed it had to do with her being the mother of six sons, but she was awfully quick to the draw as if always expecting some trouble. She would have made a formidable duellist, Harry mused, if she would have had the right mentality to actually fight someone to the bitter end and wouldn't present such a huge target. As for the latter, every one of her children seemed to follow Mr. Weasley. Under the table, Harry slipped his own wand in his hand. If today was the day, he wouldn't be caught unprepared.

A second knock. Mrs. Weasley commanded, "Who is it? State your purpose." Bill's voice sounded through the door. "It's me, William Weasley, who you called your Wily Willy, partly for my strong dislike for pants first witnessed during your weekly tea circle with your friends. Ask the question, please."

"Who was your favourite player in your fifth year?"

"Anne Brunswick, Gobstone champion, because of her cunning plays. Also, she had the cutest dimple on her..."

„Yes," Mrs. Weasley interrupted hastily, and opened the door.

In came the eldest of her sons, looking as rebellious as ever, still sporting his dragon fang earring. He took a quick glance around, taking account of the occupants of the room. "Morning, Hermione. Good read?"

She nodded. "Very. I'm just reading ahead for the upcoming N.E.W.T.-years; now that I know for certain which O.W.L.s I got, I can finally start preparing in earnest."

Harry kept himself from grinning. "And you haven't done so already? Before you knew about the results? If I remember Ron's complaints correctly..."

"Very funny. No, despite what Ronald might think, I didn't."

Bill smiled slightly as he took a seat. "Hello, Harry. Doing okay?"

"I'm fine, thanks." Feeling slightly mischievous, not to mention intrigued, Harry couldn't resist it. "Now, Bill, care to finish the sentence? She's got a dimple...?"

It was funny how both women were suddenly throwing glares around: Mrs. Weasley sent her son a nonverbal warning not to finish while Hermione seemed to fight down the urge to lecture Harry about decency. It was downright hilarious how the targets of said fierce looks failed to be troubled about it at all. In fact, Harry wondered more whether Hermione acted more like a sister or a mother to him. He had no reason to feel sorry, confident in Bill's judgement, or else he wouldn't have brought it up.

The redhead grabbed a piece of toast from the table. "On her left cheek, next to her eye. Vanishes when she smiles, which was quite rare when I knew her. Slytherin, you know?" After a moment, just enough for Mrs. Weasley to relax, he added with a shrug, "And a widow's peak on her butt."

Harry had trouble keeping from laughing. Hermione had switched her glare to Bill who still wasn't disturbed. Harry could understand why the goblins employed him. To keep his cool while faced by two furious witches certainly wasn't easy. Then he noticed, somewhat belatedly, the meaning of what Bill had said.

"Wait, you dated a Slytherin?" Somehow, that shocked Harry more than he would have expected. But then, the Weasley's had always been rather clear about their opinion of the House of Cunning. Ron hated them on principle, Ginny held quite a bit of contempt for them as well. Fred and George categorized them as idiotic and notorious cheaters –not without good reason, though. Mrs. Weasley usually took a bit of time each summer to take the children aside and reminded them about staying cautious around the Slytherins. Even Mr. Weasley had been overheard making disparaging comments about some of his co-workers, calling them 'Slytherins to the bone' with 'not a shred of humanity'. Learning that the very well liked Bill had actually dated one...

"Err, we didn't date, Harry," he replied, and for the first time that morning, he looked a bit uncomfortable. Understandable, Harry reasoned, since it didn't take three years of Divination to predict the reaction. Hermione blushed furiously. Mrs. Weasley jumped about a foot.

"William Weasley," screeched his mother and continued, louder than before, "I... we raised you better than that! Never in my life would I have expected you to... Don't you have any shame? What did you do to the poor girl? Of all the..."

If he hadn't seen it, Harry wouldn't have believed it. With nothing more than a glare of his own and a raised hand, Bill stopped his mother in her tracks. Not that he could fault Mrs. Weasley because her son did look quite impressive and commanding. Yes, Harry could understand why his siblings looked up to him, even the straight-laced Percy. While he could joke like every other, he now radiated a power that would shock everyone into silence.

"You did raise me better, yes. I did what I had to do –reluctantly, mind you –and informed her Head of House when I found her during my patrol. That was when I saw her in a state of undress. She was actually pretty decent about it, joked about it later even and took it in stride. So, yes, you did raise me better than that, but you also raised each of your children with the exception of one to have a sense of humour. Not to mention that I have already told you not to jump to conclusions so fast. I didn't sleep with Anne, but even if had, it wouldn't be any business of yours. And I also remember distinctly to have asked you not to butt into my talks with my brothers and to trust my judgment."

Harry had a feeling he knew the underlying issue the man had alluded to: Fleur, whom every female in the house seemed to hate for no reason. Well, not exactly no reason, since the French witch had a tendency to be tactless unintentionally. But while the irrational fear of losing her eldest might cause Mrs. Weasley to resent the girl, it still left Hermione and Ginny. The latter was actually pretty similar to the part-Veela, now that he compared the two, but with a small difference: Ginny was intentionally rude and downright nasty to the other witch. The first morning at the Burrow, Harry had associated it to her temper when she had cruelly imitated Fleur. Even the most reasonable of people could be incensed, after all, and it would have been highly hypocritical of him to hold it against her. Harry had spent a bit of time around the French witch since the first morning and could understand them a little: She had a talent for saying just the wrong thing from time to time. But just the day before, Harry had overheard the youngest Weasley make insinuations about Fleur's love life he quite doubted. Unless he was very much mistaken, Harry couldn't really see the witch in question leading Bill on or 'lust after every piece of meat that crosses her way' or 'sink her claws into every guy around'. The only one Harry had seen Fleur with apart from Bill had been Roger Davies at the Yule Ball. That had been over a year before she had started dating Bill. Two guys over the course of eighteen months was hardly a lot. And that was counting Davies who had been her date for exactly one evening.

Applying these standards, Ginny had had three boys in the same time: Neville, Michael Corner and Dean. And around the house, apart from Ron, no one fell for Fleur's allure, meaning, she certainly didn't sink her claws into every guy around. Now that Harry thought about it, he wasn't even sure whether he actually had to fight against the allure. He was aware of it, yes, but at the same time, he could still think clearly. It was as if he was constantly resisting a mild compulsion or the whisper of an Imperius curse. Maybe there was some similarity between the two influences?

While Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were somewhat understandable if irrational, Hermione was a curious case. She and Fleur shared a love for reading and learning, both were female intruders on the predominantly male family, both loved Weasley men. What's more, Hermione was capable of logical thinking. And hadn't she claimed to know the ways of love just the year before during Harry's debacle with Cho? But it seemed like Hermione had chosen to side with Ginny instead of reason. Perhaps she simply wanted to be the loyal friend to the youngest Weasley –who still lacked a compelling reason to hate Fleur as well, aside from her having an easier time with boys without much evidence to prove it and the fear of losing her brother.

Then again, Hermione might just be jealous, a thought Harry found hilarious. If she were, then she would also be a hypocrite: Hadn't she treated Ron's jealousy of Krum as childish? Hadn't she shown exasperation just last year when Ron's feelings of jealousy had flared as soon as Krum had been mentioned? And Ron's jealousy did have at least a bit of a reason –there had been something between Krum and Hermione, whatever it was; they had gone to the Yule Ball together and had spent quite a bit of time away from attention and watchful eyes. Ron however had no chance at all with Fleur; he was merely weak to the allure of the Veela and repeatedly looked like a fool. If Hermione was jealous, then, yes, she would be a hypocrite. And human, of course.

Harry's attention was drawn to the talk in front of him again. Doing her best to come up with a counter to her eldest son's statement, Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips. "Harry isn't your brother, William, and you know it."

"'He's not your son, Molly.' 'He's as good as!' Do you remember?" Bill held her gaze for a moment. "If you can claim him as good as yours, then so can I." Harry felt a sudden rush of blood to his face. He hadn't thought the red-haired man would see it that way. He really was a brilliant older brother, even if he wasn't Harry's.

Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to know a good reply. After wringing her hands, she changed tactics. "It's still disrespectful to speak about the girl like that."

"She'd be quite angry if I didn't. Humanizing Slytherins? Yeah, that'd be something she'd get behind. We joked about it, Gallows Humour, in a way. The whole school learned about the story, unfortunately. My patrol partner said she didn't tell on them, I didn't either. Neither of them would. That leaves either one of her housemates or Snape. I heard he was furious; with her getting caught, and, well..." He frowned. Ah, Harry realized, that had been the cause of his discomfort.

"Severus would not betray someone's secrets," Mrs. Weasley shrugged off.

Harry coughed. "He did tell on Lupin out of an ill-advised notion, just to get back at him for opposing him and Sirius escaping the git."

"But he is still an adult, he would not intentionally hurt a student," Mrs. Weasley replied with an air of finality.

Harry shrugged. "Well, he has repeatedly sabotaged Neville's potions, reprimanded him for nonexistent infractions, terrorized him, for example trying to poison Neville's toad, shown disrespect towards the dead, insulted my parents as well as Sirius, insulted me, Hermione, Ron, Neville, the entirety of Gryffindor, with special mention of the Weasleys. Oh, yeah, and there was that time when Malfoy's curse hit Hermione in the face, making her teeth grow abnormally large. Snape brushed it off as not seeing any difference. Let's see, what else?"

"We know you don't like him, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling soothingly. "But he is still a teacher; he would never do such extreme..."

"Err, he does, actually," Hermione threw in. "Harry has also failed to mention the point abductions for breathing, smiling, cheating while heating water, hindering classmates while delivering his sample, actively destroying Harry's samples, threatening Harry and Neville with poison..."

"And Veritaserum," Harry added.

"Yes, that too, not to mention awarding points for excellent application of hexes and jinxes on Gryffindors to Slytherin house and in turn abducting points from Gryffindors for glaring at members of his house. There was also the time when Nott pushed one of the Hufflepuff first-years aside, and she hit a wall. True, it didn't take long to heal, and it wasn't his intended result, but he still did it. Nott got a detention, the Hufflepuff too for 'provoking it' and besmirching the hallowed halls with her blood. Granted, the girl did tell him he blocked the way."

"Remember when he gave Cho Chang a detention on the eve of the game just so she'd be too tired to play well?"

"Ah, and he confiscated Dean's dangerous weapon –his potions knife –only to abduct points for not coming to class prepared, in this case,without a knife. Then there was the detention for Parvati for speaking out of turn when she accidentally burned her hand, or the ten points from Lavender for needing treatment when one of the Slytherins tipped her cauldron. Oh, and Colin told me about the detention for disturbing the peace and quiet by raising his hand to ask a question," Hermione continued.

"Points from you for being 'an insufferable know-it-all', Ron for scaring people with his face, you for trying to force yourself into the spotlight when you arrived early..."

Bill whistled. "Not bad. He seems to come up with ever more creative explanations and transgressions of common decency."

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "No, I don't believe it. He wouldn't be at school if he wouldn't do his job properly."

Harry, recognizing a lost case when he saw one, swallowed his last piece of toast, causing Bill to nod.

"Well then, to business. To my knowledge, you wanted to visit the house to... leave a letter, right?"

"A letter to Sirius, yes," Harry confirmed. "I heard it might help with... you know." The grieving process, he finished in his mind, but kept from voicing it. He got enough pity as it was already, and he had enough to worry about without them trying to counsel him on his mourning.

Bill nodded. "It's worth a try. Now, I was asked to escort you and act as your bodyguard, Harry, and I will do so only on a few conditions; I have to think of your safety first, alright?" He ignored his mother's stern look. "You will do as I say. I don't want any trouble, you see, and you running off would count as such. We will go in, you do what you wanted to, and we leave. No sightseeing, no getting side-tracked." Harry nodded. He hadn't planned to anyway. "Alright. The Headmaster hoped you would reconsider your plan, as he is not convinced it is a good one..."

"See?" Mrs. Weasley broke in. "If Dumbledore does not want you to, then you shouldn't! Oh, Harry listen to me... listen to us."

Bill continued. "He also wished for me to inform you to follow my instructions and hoped you find what you are looking for during your visit since he cannot convince you to change your mind. Well then. Ready to go?"

Harry sighed. He had planned for the day for the last two weeks, ever since he had woken up from a nightmare seeing Sirius at the Ministry, but still felt dreadfully unprepared. Still, he locked eyes with Bill. "As ready as I ever will be. Thanks for doing this."

"Don't worry about it," the man said, "as long as we don't dawdle, it's fine."

And so, they left the comfortable kitchen with its food. Mrs. Weasley hugged both of them, and promised a nice meal for their return. Hermione stood to the side and bit her lip.

"You... you'll be alright, Harry?"

He fought down the smile he felt growing. He could see where she was going with this, or why she had stayed in the kitchen instead of going to the living room to read.

"You don't have to come with us. Yes, I will be alright; that's the whole reason for this, isn't it? We'll be back before you know it. Although, if you want to do something for me or to just occupy your time..."

"Yes?"

"My Herbology essay. It looks like a lot of work, so..."

He easily evaded her half-hearted swipe. Yelling "See you later!" he grabbed Bill's arm, and with the feeling of being pressed through a tube far too tight for a human, much less two, he travelled to London.

* * *

**First chapter done. I guess congratulations are in order for everyone who stuck with me so far. The next chapter will be posted in about a week, just as a heads-up.**

**.**

**I changed the dialog between Harry and Bill slightly to clarify both the reason for the visit to Grimmauld Place -leaving a letter as part of his mourning process for Sirius -and make it abundantly clear Bill is to act as Harry's bodyguard, not his confidante or friend, and that he does so under the conditions he mentioned, mainly to stay focused on what they want to do -leave the letter.**


	2. Family

Posted 10/24/2013, Edited 11/5/2013

**.**

**It is always nice of people to review, so thanks for that. I do hope it is a good start as most of the reviewers seem to agree on. The intended couple will be Harry/Daphne; however, it will still take some time.**

**Concerning Daphne's appearance, a lot of people choose either blonde or black hair in theeir stories. Both have their merits, but to my knowledge, she was mentioned only once by name; she is one of the students to enter the Great Hall with Hermione for the practical DADA exams. Interestingly, as far as I know, it is also the only time in all of the books the name Greengrass is mentioned. Astoria is not once named in the books even though according to Rowling, Astoria is married to Draco in later life.  
**

**The introspective nature of Harry in the first chapter is something I would expect of a teenager who learned, in short order, that his dear godfather died, that Dumbledore had known about the imminent danger for the Potters and Longbottoms, that a prophecy had been made that provoked Voldemort into attacking in the first place, that the headmaster of the school knew all along of the danger Harry would be in once Voldemort returned and decided -Psych! -to forego any training for Harry so that he could have a childhood... you know, before he'd be hunted down and inevitably be killed due to lack of any training. Yeah, kind of a lot to take. That can make someone reconsider their life and future. Also, it is yet another betrayal Harry had to suffer, and yet another adult who abandoned him when he had needed it most. Well, at least Harry had a nice, normal, undisturbed childhood with his loving relatives. Long story short, that can make people gain a different, perhaps even harsh outlook on life. Oh, and telling Harry what he can and can't do? That's something the Dursleys did; it won't be welcome be a rebellous teenaged Harry.**

**.**

**This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.**

* * *

**Chapter Two – Family**

.

When they arrived, Harry shook his head experimentally. He might never get used to wizarding travelling. Looking around, he found himself standing precisely on the stairs to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, the house Sirius had left him.

"Yeah, that is really something to get used to, Apparition. But don't worry; it really is better when you do it yourself. Or perhaps you don't notice it when you are busy?" Bill didn't look at Harry. Instead, he scanned the surrounding area for signs of an ambush. Seeing none, he relaxed a bit.

"Alright then. Let's do it." He tapped the door with his wand, and Harry frowned. He understood why Bill did it: Dumbledore and the Order had to have added that part so anyone from them could come and go at will; it made no sense to have one of their own waiting to be let in. But it still irked Harry a bit to see someone else granting him access to his own house. Number 12, Grimmauld Place was his now, every wall, room, door, lock and key. But he shook his indignation away. It was his property, but he had no intention of ever living in the house or visiting more than necessary.

Not like he would have a lot of opportunities anyway, just until he would die, he added in his thoughts; with the way the war was going, there was a strong likelihood of that happening soon. What would happen to the house then, he wondered. Normally, it would fall to his heir. Who would that be? Well in the absence of a will... his relatives, mostly likely. Oh yeah, that would be awesome, wouldn't it? The Dursleys inheriting a wizarding home. A hoot, but perhaps they wouldn't scoff at it. A house is a house, and once they realized they could sell it to earn a bit of money for themselves... But then, hadn't Dumbledore said something about spells, about Black property only going to purebloods?

As they stepped into the dusty hallway, Harry turned to his companion. "Bill, I just thought about something. What happens to it –the house and everything –should I die?"

The man whipped around, a calculating look in his eye. Then, he sighed. "It was a mistake, coming here. You are not ready yet."

Harry shook his head. He would have laughed if the atmosphere in the house hadn't been so depressing. "Ah, no, that's not it! I just wondered. Dumbledore said something about enchantments that might force the house and everything connected to it to only go to purebloods. That sounds like something the Blacks might do, but I don't have that many pureblood relatives, do I?"

"Well, you aren't one either," Bill replied, "so there might not be one."

"Yes, I know. But there could still be enchantments to ensure it can only go to wizarding folk, right? They exist in theory, at least, right? Otherwise, Dumbledore wouldn't have feared enchantments to limit the ownership of the house to Blacks or purebloods in the first place."

Bill frowned. "I haven't seen one myself, but they do exist and are nearly impossible to detect."

"Then it would pass to the next living wizarding relative, right?" Harry continued.

"Unless there are other provisions like it had been in your case, yes, the closest wizarding relative."

Harry felt like smacking his forehead. "The Malfoys. Great."

Bill smiled. "Not necessarily, but probably. The Malfoys were among Sirius' closest relatives, and with Andromeda Tonks and her descendants disinherited and Bellatrix a wanted criminal... Let's go, shall we? Standing around won't do us any good."

Harry nodded. "You're right. Sorry, it was just..."

"Ah, don't be. It was a good question actually. Maybe you should look into it, just to be sure." He whipped out his wand. "Now then. _Homenum revelio_."

Nothing happened, and Bill relaxed further.

"Well, that's that. All clear, I'd say, but better be careful. Now, where did you want to go?"

Blinking, Harry stared for a moment. "Err, Sirius' room. Wherever that is."

Bill looked around the hallway. "Topmost floor. I had to fetch him once." And he began to lead the way, to the stairs and up. All the while, he scanned the surroundings for sings of possible danger.

"It's strange, being here again," Harry began. While he was willing to accept Bill's presence as his guard for the time being, somehow, the unnatural silence within the walls got to him. He could imagine Sirius sitting in the depressing darkness with nothing but a mad house-elf. "I don't think I've ever seen it that quiet," he said to hear something around him, even if it was just the echo of his words.

Bill grinned. "Well, you've only seen it with Fred and George here, didn't you? With them around, no house is quiet."

That got a smile from Harry, and somehow, Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, seemed slightly less uninviting. But perhaps it was just the lack of screaming from Mrs. Black as they had passed her portrait without incident.

"You took everything useful from the house, didn't you?" Harry commented when his eyes found an empty spot where once an ornate silver plate had been. Sirius had said something about war efforts once, and as he had done so, he had looked less gloomy.

"Well, we didn't want to leave anything that could lead back to us, so yeah, we took a lot, but not all. You do have a point though; I think some things are missing." He frowned, thinking about that.

Something bothered Harry about that. Sure, he had no interest in silver or paintings or, for that matter, money. But it still looked as if they had taken more than he had assumed initially. And there was something else; if Bill thought something was missing that the Order hadn't taken with them, did that mean someone had been there after they had left? If so, why? And had they just taken something or had they left something as well, traps perhaps?

"Did anyone search Sirius' room?" he asked, trying to distract himself from worrying as well as wondering about it, "After... after..."

"When we left?" Bill interjected. Harry nodded thankfully. "Err, I'm not sure. We were in a bit of a hurry. I think so. Why?"

Harry looked around the corridor, his eyes coming to rest on the banister he was sure had once been adorned with a silver knob. "Well, I was just wondering, if anyone... might have been there, or whether we'll be the first. Whether something had been removed. Or disturbed since... the building had been vacated."

Silently, they ascended another flight of stairs. Bill once again scanned the surroundings. "Removed? Harry, what do you think we did here? Someone might have removed anything connected with the Order, and we might have taken some things we deemed useful, but, well... that's it, I believe. Or rather..." He bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I took something else, too. You see, when we were in the Order, I... Sirius, he knew about Fleur and me. And he was happy for me... for us, I mean. Quite happy, actually." The man turned around fully. "He promised me a brooch from an aunt, I think, should I tie the knot. Valuable, but more importantly, pretty. Well, I..."

Harry waved it off. "Don't worry. Keep it. I doubt it would suit me anyway, and if Sirius wanted you to have it, then who am I to disagree?"

"Ah, I wouldn't be so sure about that, actually, it might go well with your eyes." Bill turned again with a smile and walked towards the next staircase.

"And I'm happy, too," Harry added to fight the silence once more. "I'm sure Fleur and you will be a very loving couple."

"Thank you. I wish we could have told you earlier, but..."

Harry shrugged. "Ah, don't worry. I heard it quite early."

"Well, yes, but I would have preferred to tell you with the rest of the family," Bill explained, and for the second time in one day, he had referred to Harry as family. It was strange, Harry mused, how much it moved him. True, he never really had a family of his own, but had also believed to have outgrown such sentimentalities. He was, for all intents and purposes almost an adult, so why hadn't he outgrown this childish longing for family? After all that he had endured, all the losses, the hardships, after the injustices the Dursleys had called an upbringing, the many disappointments from authority figures, why had he still not learned his lesson?

More to distract himself than anything, he asked, "That spell you cast when we were downstairs..."

"Homenum revelio? What about it?" Bill glanced over his shoulder, yet Harry couldn't help but notice the careful look around the redhead sent through the hallway.

"I just wondered what it does. I gathered it is some kind of security spell from the way you used it, and I do know a bit of Latin; it's something about revealing people, right?"

"Something like that, yes," Bill confirmed. "It shows whether other people are in the house. I checked whether someone was waiting for us. It's not fail-safe, sadly, but still very good. It takes a lot, and I mean more than most would be able to, to trick that spell."

"It shows other people? I was right about that? How does that work? I didn't notice anything."

Bill shrugged. "Well, you wouldn't see it. The caster gets something like a gentle push, a vibration from the direction someone is. And as for the distance, well, that's a bit of experience coming in."

"... Why?" Harry had already forgotten why he had asked initially. Somehow, the topic intrigued him. Was it perhaps the connection to defensive magic? He had always been interested –and talented, to be fair –in Defence against the Dark Arts. And if he had to fight a dark lord anytime soon, knowledge like that might come in handy.

Bill blinked, and Harry explained, "Why would the spell cause a vibration?"

"Ah, well, the spell sends out a... well, a wave, you could call it. If this... wave hits a person, it is reflected back towards the caster who feels it as something like a shove. A wave. A vibration. Pick what you want. It's like watching waves break on a rock in a lake. Even if you don't see the rock itself, the waves tell you something is there."

"And how would one trick that? It seems pretty straightforward."

Bill smiled genially. "Curious, aren't you? Well, I already said it is reflected by people, not matter in general or it wouldn't pass through the ceiling and walls. I should have said, it is reflected by people's core, their magic, if you will. Exceptionally skilled witches and wizards might be able to prevent that, I'm not sure. But I thought about something else, actually. Any idea?"

Harry frowned. How should he know how to trick such a spell if he had no experience with it? "No. People's magic, you said? Perhaps a Muggle?"

Bill shook his head a bit. "No, but not that far off. Even Muggles have something of a core, they just can't use it. No, the answer is fairly simple. By not putting a person here. Inferi are, as far as the spell is concerned, objects. They don't reflect, but would still be quite able to attack. Or by setting a trap; just because no one is waiting for us doesn't mean there can't be any danger here. There is a reason why I still look around, and it's the reason you even need someone coming with you."

Harry's frown deepened. "But the spell penetrates walls and ceilings?"

Laughing, Bill nodded. "Of course, otherwise it would be kind of stupid, no?"

"But it only shows people in the house? Shouldn't it have shown you... well, everyone? The neighbours? People in airplanes overhead? Everyone in... Australia too?"

"First of all, please don't mention anything about airplanes to Dad or he'd start about those again. Second of all, no, the spell only checks the house the caster is in. That's why I used it when we were inside, instead of when we arrived on the porch."

Now that Harry thought about it, it made sense. Bill had waited until they were inside. But wait, something still wasn't right.

"How does that work? Shouldn't the spell still go on? You said the spell only checks the one house, not that you willed it to do so."

Bill chuckled. "Hermione does seem to have an influence on you, it seems; she would have asked the same. Well, alright. Homenum Revelio..." Bill hesitated. "Which electives did you take until now?"

Harry scratched his head confusedly. "Care of Magical Creatures and Divination, why? Is that relevant?"

Pursing his lips, Bill walked on. "I assume you listened to Ron's advice? I really should have taught him better than that. But anyway –yes, it is relevant, in a way. Depending on your electives, I would have given you a different explanation. Since you have neither Runes nor Arithmancy, I'll just give you the basic idea. Long story short, Homenum Revelio ends at the wards around a wizard's home. They stop the wave, simple as that."

"And how would that answer have been different had I taken different electives?" Harry asked. He still saw no reason how they would have factored in there, as even the simple answer was easy enough to understand, yet explained the underlying idea.

With a sigh, Bill ascended the last flight of stairs. "Had you taken Runes, I would have pointed out the specific wards and the reason why they stop the wave because, believe it or not, implementing a specific ward just for that would be ridiculously stupid, not to mention complex and dangerous for the protection of the house as a whole. Think of it as," Bill glanced off into the distance before continuing, "as stacking books. The more you put on top, the higher the risk that it collapses. The more wards you put around a property, the more likely it is the whole set will come down. One mistake with one of the wards and it will bring everything down with it." He let that sink in for a moment. "Had you taken Arithmancy on the other hand, I would have talked about the nature of Nothing, of the nonexistent space between this house and the next that would have marked the borders for the spell, and please don't ask me to explain that concept; we're hard-pressed for time as it is."

"Sounds complicated," Harry commented.

"Very. Now that I think about it, I'm not even sure whether the concept of Nothing is actually taught in the O.W.L.-years. It is a bit tricky, not to mention completely irrelevant to anything outside of theoretical works. –We're there." He pushed open the door he was standing in front of. After a quick glance inside the room, he let Harry enter. It was very much like he had expected, yet completely different. Sirius had put up Gryffindor colours; not surprising since he had been very proud about that. The bed and floor were messy just like it had to be expected from childish men like Sirius had been one. A neat Sirius… no, that simply didn't fit. But then, all around the room, posters of scantily clad Muggle girls hung. Harry was impressed; his godfather had really done what he could to annoy his parents. Doing his best to ignore one picture of a blonde doing an impressive split and smiling seductively, Harry walked through the room and over to the desk. He had thought about the best place. Placing it on the bed seemed... odd, wrong in a way. The same was true for the nightstand. It wasn't meant that way, not meant for the hours of dozing or rest. Harry had meant it for a clear and aware mind, but more importantly, for Sirius. The desk was the best place, the only place, really.

He pulled the letter he had written and revised during the long hours at Privet Drive from his pocket and stared at the envelope once more. He knew Sirius would never read it, of course. It had torn him up to write it, to put to paper everything he had always wanted his godfather to know, had written about his childhood and the many injustices he had had to suffer. About each and every painful memory that he had, about the hopes he had found to be crushed by cruel reality and every fear that had been proven to be justified. But he had also written extensively about Sirius, about everything he had wanted to ask, to know about this link to the past, about the sorrow and worry he connected with Sirius. Harry had written about his school years, each of his adventures. And about his parents, about the nights when he had most missed them.

Rationally, he knew Sirius would never walk into the room, never read the letter. But there had been something very liberating about writing it. Perhaps it had to do with sorting through everything, or maybe it was the simple fact that, out of all the people he had met, Sirius was the only one Harry had felt confident would be able understand the hardships he had endured. And there was something else that only now, standing in the room of his deceased godfather, Harry realized –he had written what amounted to the only true recollection of his life, without the glamour or lies. As he looked at the parchment in his hands, Harry realized that it could very likely be the majority of his biography. He had written about the eleven years he had decent memories of –how much more could there be? One year? Two? How long until he would be struck down, killed in the war or maybe dying in a freak accident, a fitting and ironic end for a freak like he had been told he was?

He really had to write a will, and soon.

Harry shook his head slightly. No sense in grieving what could not be changed. Unless some miracle happened, Harry's days were counted. He placed the envelope on the desk like he had planned and envisioned. He had even dreamed about it, which had been a welcome deviation from his usual nights. It was just like he had thought it would be, except for one small detail.

The book was unexpected.

It looked heavy, a thick leather cover around what looked like maybe a thousand thin pages. Harry could imagine his godfather doing many things in his free time, but reading a book, and one that big? No. He glanced around the room. Posters, Gryffindor banner, a few photos. A comfortable looking bed and a closet. There wasn't even a bookshelf, no schoolbooks lying around or maybe an underwear catalogue like one would find in Dudley's room. The book, Harry decided, was very out of place, very out of character for Sirius, but still undeniably there. For some reason, it reminded Harry of the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library. It would have fit there for sure. Maybe it was even from there, Harry thought, before remembering what Hermione had said about those books, especially how difficult it was to get one in the first place. There was no doubt left that books from the Restricted Section didn't leave the grounds.

His hand edged closer to it. Hadn't he wanted to learn something about Sirius? He couldn't ask him, but if he knew what his godfather had read before his passing, he would have something at least. And Dumbledore had thought this trip to be useless, a waste of energy. For only a moment he wavered in his determination. A book where there should reasonably not be one? An oddity, something that should alarm him, worry him? Perhaps a Death Eater had planted it? They would know Harry had inherited the house since the Malfoys hadn't.

But then, how would they have entered the house? And even if they had, how would they have known he would visit Sirius' room? That was very unlikely. And they hadn't faced anything unexpected on the way up as far as Harry could tell. And really, his whole doubts hinged on his belief that Sirius hadn't read a book in his life, not even out of boredom. Preposterous. Surely the son of a pureblood family would read books. And who's to say Sirius hadn't been researching something? He had had very little he could do for the Order, so why not use the time for some reading? And most importantly, Harry wanted to know. He wanted to know what this book was about. He grabbed it.

For the briefest moment, he held it in his hand. It was heavier than expected. But before he could think much about it, Harry heard a yell, and dropped it. With a bang, it fell to the floor.

Bill had jumped into the room. "What were you thinking?" His eyes wandered over everything, checking for discrepancies or attackers. He saw the book and Harry standing beside it with a surprised look on his face. Realisation dawning on him, Bill groaned. "Please, Harry, tell me I was imagining things and you didn't pick something up!" He shook his head. "Does it hurt? Anything strange?"

Harry blinked. "Ah. Err, sorry. Ahm. No, it doesn't hurt anywhere. I merely wanted to see this book. Sorry, I didn't want to startle you."

"Startle. Startle? Harry, you came here to leave something, not to touch or pick up. It could very well be cursed! It could be a trap, a portkey, for example. We do not need a repeat of the tournament."

"How would Death Eaters plant a book here? How would they get it into the house?" Harry replied mulishly. Yes, he knew he should have been more careful. But it was his, wasn't it? His book since it was in his house, so why should he defend himself?

Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. "Kreacher could have left it there, Harry. Do you trust him not to assist in your death? He doesn't exactly have the best of track records." He sighed. "I'll run a few diagnostics, and you will hold still if you know what's good for you."

And they did just that. Bill cast spell after spell on Harry, without so much as looking away, and Harry stood rooted to the spot. He hadn't thought about Kreacher. Of course the little worm would have been delighted to plant something like that, a nice little surprise for the new master. Maybe he should order the house-elf to kill himself –gut or drown himself, maybe –to get rid of the constant risk. But he also knew he couldn't do it. Kreacher, for his many faults, was still a living, feeling being, and letting it kill itself would not be right; ordering it to do so would be even worse.

After a while, Bill bent down to the book and started his casting again. Having nothing better to do, Harry let his gaze wander over the smooth skin of the pictured girls. That was something Dudley had never dared. Had his mother seen her little Duddikins putting up such disrespectful trash, would she have reacted? Harry guessed she would have taken action, and was silently grateful Dudley hadn't let himself get caught bringing anything risky home. Aunt Petunia would have acted, yes, and he, Harry would have had to suffer the consequences. She'd likely have thought up some conspiracy with Harry as the lead instigator, trying to incriminate her poor son with filthy pictures.

"Well, I can't find anything dangerous," Bill announced. "You were lucky."

"So it's safe to touch?" Harry asked. He didn't want to challenge the man. There was a reason, after all, why Bill had been sent with him.

"I'd rather you didn't, actually. Just because I can't find anything doesn't mean there is nothing there. Every curse and poison is encountered once for the first time; I learned that the hard way in Egypt. And it's not what we came here for, you wanted to leave the letter; no getting side-tracked, remember?" Bill pointed out. His worry was still evident and Harry couldn't fault him. True, the book seemed harmless. But then, they were still in a house with potentially dangerous artifacts and no back up.

"I just want to see what it is. Sirius and a book? Come on, you're curious too, and we are already here," Harry told Bill with a mischievous smile.

"Sirius and a book. Sounds like a good start for a joke." Bill swished his wand, and the tome opened. Bent low over it, he read, "_The Mind Arts, by Josefina Smith._" He frowned, suddenly alert.

Harry felt a jolt go through him. A book about the Mind Arts? Suddenly everything fell into place. That wasn't something Sirius would read. It was, however, something Sirius would find for his godson, him, Harry, who had had to learn Occlumency the last time they had really talked to each other.

"Whose was it?" Harry asked. Somehow the presence of the book reminded him of just how bad a godson he had been. How had he repaid Sirius this thoughtfulness? By luring him into a trap. And here it was, indisputable evidence of Sirius' care and love for his godson.

Bill swished his wand again, and going back to the first page, bending very low, he read, "Elladora Black." He raised an eyebrow. "Ring a bell?"

Harry shrugged. "Kind of. I'd have to look at the tapestry..."

"Out of the question. No getting side-tracked, Harry; you agreed to that. We really should be going, actually –the goblins are waiting for me."

"Well, alright. I think she was some ancestor of Sirius. Something like that –he mentioned her once if I remember correctly."

"Well, seems like Sirius had found something to occupy his time. Good for him," he sent the book a wary glance. "Well then, are you finished? No offence, but... this place is really intimidating, and I deal with goblins on a daily basis."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Harry agreed, remembering his first visit to the bank. He wouldn't want to get on the creature's bad side either. "Before we leave, could you do me a favour and cast a slight Notice-Me-Not? On the letter? Don't want mice to find it."

Bill walked over to the desk and quickly waved his wand. Harry didn't have eyes for him, though. Following a sudden impulse, he picked the book up and stuffed it under his shirt. It felt right to do so –Sirius had surely spent days looking for it, had meant it to go to Harry, perhaps as a present. Not taking it would have been... disrespectful? Foolish? Inconsiderate? He couldn't say; all he knew was that he had to take the book with him. It was his –a memento of his lost godfather. Still, the leather was cold, clammy even on his skin.

Bill, having finished, returned. "Done." His eyes travelled to the spot where the book had been before; glancing to Harry with a frown, he looked at the bulge under his shirt as if he wanted to say something, but hesitated for a moment. Then he shrugged half-heartedly. "Alright then, let's get going or Mum'll have Kneazles. And I still have to report to Dumbledore."

Harry nodded mutely, thankful Bill hadn't said anything about the book, the last present of Sirius to his godson.

The descent was far quieter than Harry would have liked, but try as he might, he couldn't shake the anxiety he felt. Now without his letter, he felt exposed. The sunken eyes of the remaining paintings on the walls piercing them, spying for their own amusement or an unknown master, were very unsettling, and once again Harry, trying not to think of the book he was smuggling out of the house for an unknown reason, felt overwhelming pity for his late godfather who had had to endure it for over a year.

* * *

Having eaten her share, Daphne set down the _Daily Prophet_. It was luck that kept both of her parents busy that morning, her father probably already deeply immersed in some obscure research about long-lost secrets of potions, and her mother, if she remembered correctly, out with her friends, for lack of a better term. They were certainly more than acquaintances, having known each other for years and occasionally connecting more thoroughly. Hadn't they invested in some business a while ago in the south? Something along those lines, causing them to pay it a visit every once in a while. Or maybe they just wanted to go restock their wardrobes while the summer sun was still shining down on them. It didn't really matter to Daphne; her mother was not at home, which was fortunate; otherwise, reading the paper while eating wouldn't have been possible. It certainly wasn't proper, and not being proper was not acceptable, at least to her family, which in essence meant her mother.

Astoria –or the hell spawn, as Daphne liked to call her sister –was still asleep. Not unusual, at least during the summer and on days when the parents were gone, but still doubly fortunate. Dealing with her would have been irritating, and more so than usual on the twenty-eighth of July, if past year were any indication. Yes, the hell spawn did have her uses, but mainly to distract her father when he had one of his moods or inspirations. Why couldn't he be normal, happy when everything went fine and according to plan, and grumpy, when something went awry? How could he be so... ecstatic whenever one of his projects failed? Who was happy when they nearly burned down the house or wrecked part of it?

So, yes, the hell spawn was useful on some occasions. But on a morning during the summer holidays, she could be very annoying, not to mention a real pest. It was just lucky that she'd have friends over to keep her busy until late in the evening. It meant peace and quiet for Daphne, or as much quiet as could be had for anyone else in the house with the hell spawn around. Carrie would be able to get work done, for one. That would be sensible, for as long as Astoria and their father were still around, the house was just a bit too big for an old elf like her and any opportunity to get something done was valuable. A busy hell spawn, a relatively quiet house and the day just beginning also meant enough time to get homework done. True, the summer had just begun and she still had all of August ahead of her, but getting the assignments out of the way meant an untroubled mind. And really, with everything around the house and the many gatherings she would likely have to endure over the last month of the holidays, there wasn't really that much time for Daphne to get her schoolwork done otherwise.

Daphne brushed her light-brown hair behind her ear. Another reason why she was happy about the hell spawn's absence this morning was special. She would, once again and like every year, get her letter.

Not the Hogwarts letter, although she much preferred that one. Hogwarts letters changed slightly, which meant a surprise each and every time. With a new Professor for Defence against the Dark Arts each year, it also meant a new textbook for that class. Some were decent. Some were rubbish, even from her point of view. Last year's Slinkhard had been the latter. Frankly, without the generous help she had received from the upper-year Slytherins, she wouldn't have been able to get her O.W.L., even if it wasn't that great of one. With just the regular lessons from Professor Umbridge, who would have had a chance? No one, simple as that. In fact, it was quite likely the only reson she had received her Exceeds Expectations had been the dreadful performance of the rest of the class.

Hogwarts letters weren't the most creative, true, but they were at least the same for everyone. Her friends all got one, and so did their friends and siblings if they had some at school. It was part of every student's life, and as such, they were routine for everyone in Daphne's age group.

No, today would be the day she would once more receive her letter from Gringotts. Just like the year before that, and the year before that, and before that all the way back to her first year, every one of them having arrived a hundred-and-forty-four days before her birthday. Well, back then, in her first year, it had been her parents, not her, that had gotten the letter, but it had still been the same letter in essence. Each and every year, on the same day. Sixteen letters, the last five of which were exactly the same. Why the hell spawn always made such a racket about it Daphne would never understand. It was always the same; it wouldn't change unexpectedly, and as such, it was merely a routine. The only difference to past years, now that Daphne thought about it, was the finality this letter would bring. It would be her last, one way or the other. In the past, it had been a tradition, nothing more. She had gotten the letter, but had been well aware of how little it actually meant for her life. A small business arrangement with both sides –hers and his –sitting down and signing a simple settlement, and she would never have had to deal with the contract again; she'd have been free. It should have been solved that summer, the summer before her seventeenth birthday if all had gone according to plan.

But that wasn't to be anymore. It was no longer a simple formality. Her father couldn't free her from it; he didn't have the required assets to settle it on hand. Her mother wouldn't do it even if she believed in her daughter's plans and intentions or simply respected Daphne's wishes. His mother Narcissa couldn't sign if she even wanted to, again the nasty business, the same as Daphne's father's –a lack of funds. But why should Narcissa Malfoy wanto to dissolve the contract in the first place? The situation had changed dramatically in the last two months. Back then, she had been the wife of a powerful political advisor, in contact with the most powerful, with the Minister for Magic, it was said, and with several of the department Heads; that had been the Lucius Malfoy back then. Reformed and a productive and upstanding citizen, he had claimed to be. Horrified about the escape in winter, he had been. Dreadful business, he had lamented.

Then Malfoy had been caught, red-handed, marked; he had been in the company of numerous of the escapees, among them his sister-in-law. No idea, not even a doubt, the Minister had claimed. Dreadful, the Minister had lamented. It probably was –for him. With one of his backers literally unmasked as a Death Eater and imprisoned, the Minister hadn't had a chance to stay in power.

Frankly, Daphne agreed with his removal from office. No matter where someone stood, a Minister who was that inefficient, either getting caught in shady business with Death Eaters without any form of security or plausible alibi or not standing against the rising power of the Dark Lord, had no place as a leader for either side. Whether Scrimgeour was a good choice remained to be seen.

But the eighteenth of June had been the day Daphne's life had changed, too. Where before, there had been a vague risk of the contract activating, to be eliminated by a simple agreement that would have increased her family's wealth a bit –nothing more than a formality, actually –from the morning of the eighteenth, her life had taken a turn, and one for the worse, she thought, even if she hadn't known at first. Sure, she had known there might have been complications, that the ultimate settlement might not be signed until close to his birthday. When she had been young, she had toyed with the thought of simply letting it run its course, just to see what it would have been like. Back then, Draco had been different.

On the morning of the twentieth, his family's accounts had been frozen, leaving them with very little money. Too little for a proper pureblood family, Daphne had heard, but wasn't quite sure; it was, however, apparently too little to dissolve the contract. In any case, almost everyone in the dorm had realized the gravity of the situation before long. How could they not? Both Pansy and Millicent were well-versed in the pureblood traditions. It had certainly led to a considerable rift with her friends with Pansy resenting Daphne for interfering with Pansy's dream of marrying Draco. But Daphne had no choice in the matter, and only time could tell whether they'd be able to reconcile.

So in a way, the letter would be special this year, she mused. Perhaps she should talk to her mother again. There had to be some way to get out of it. Did she really want her daughter to go through with it? Hadn't her mother always said how fortunate the settlement would be for the family? Even if she earned reasonably well, with her husband constantly causing considerable property damage, money was a topic, and one most purebloods didn't have to face. Even the bit that had been left by Daphne's grandparents wasn't of any use, tied up and left for the exact opposite purpose of what Daphne wanted at the moment –as a wedding present. The Greengrasses simply didn't have the money to spare for a settlement.

She was torn from her musing when the owl fluttered into the open window and landed in front of her. Daphne fixed her blue eyes on the bird.

"Yes, I know," she sighed. "A letter, for me, from Gringotts, how completely unexpected, whatever could it be? Well then, let's see, here you go, good journey, owl, and good riddance," Daphne spoke and took the letter from the bird. Every year it was the same. The hell spawn would have been jumping around in excitement if she had received the letter. Daphne didn't. She never had. It was a routine, and one she endured, but not enjoyed. Watching the owl flutter out of the window, she felt suddenly wide awake. It wasn't like the other years, it was a special year. Her last, to be precise. The next, the owl wouldn't come anymore; she'd either be free or unrevoacably stuck with Malfoy.

Good riddance indeed. She was tired of the yearly reminders from the goblins.

Shaking her head exasperatedly, she opened the letter. She knew what it would say, of course. It was always the same. Did they honestly expect a change? Not really. But it was tradition to send the letters, and traditions were important with purebloods, even if only to find new loopholes to abuse.

Daphne fingered the letter. If she hadn't opened it, she would have had to lie to her parents about it. Because they would ask, there was no doubt about that. And the hell spawn would, as well, until Daphne would perhaps confess to having simply thrown it in her room, unread and unopened.

She didn't mind lying. Not to the sister, not to her parents or friends or teachers or, really, anyone. But it would be stupid to have to lie. It was an unnecessary risk. What if her parents or Carrie or Astoria happened upon the unopened envelope? And if she had to open the envelope and pull out the parchment to ruffle it a bit, making it look like it had been read, then she could just as well look at it in the first place and avoid having to lie at all.

She skipped the introduction, because, honestly, who cared what the Goblins had to write? She would have stuffed the letter away after a half-hearted glance, she knew what it would say, after all, so she only had to have a reason to tell her family that, yes, she had checked the letter and seen nothing unusual. It wouldn't have been a lie while still saving her the effort to actually read what the goblins had written.

Only, it looked different, somehow. Longer, in a way. Her eyes quickly found the relevant paragraph, the one actually containing information instead of the introductions and boring reminders of idiotic rules no one cared about.

"On the subject of the outstanding contract," she read, "with the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, we inform you of the existence of a potential candidate of First Rank, Draco Malfoy, son of Narcissa Malfoy, daughter of House Black, daughter of Cygnus Black." Daphne knew that part. She had read it, or rather seen it, five times, already. However, the next part was unexpected. New. "On the subject of the outstanding contract with the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, we inform you of the existence of a potential candidate of Second Rank.

"The due date is the fifth of June 1997."

Her head was spinning. She knew about Draco, of course. She had known all her life. It had been one of the reasons she had had trouble with Pansy at first who was vying for his attention. Only after they had talked about it had Pansy accepted her. Really, Daphne didn't love Draco; they were friends at best, and if Pansy managed to snatch him, good for her. Everyone would be happy, assuming the contract would be out of the way. Daphne had little interest in taking part in Draco's love life. Pansy had certainly put in a lot of effort over the years to first get and then keep Draco's attention, and Daphne had little interest in the sloppy seconds of one of her friends. She could do without that awkwardness. It should have been an easy case, hadn't Lucius Malfoy gotten himself caught last June. It would have been a simple agreement to dissolve the contract –a bit of gold to pass hands, to free Draco for worthier matches. Traditions respected, both sides would have walked away without any trouble at all. All that had been missing had been the signatures, and that had been planned for the summer. After Malfoy's imprisonment, however, the union hadn't seemed quite so bad anymore from their point of view. True, the Greengrasses hadn't become any more respectable in the meantime, but the Malfoys had a good opportunity on their hands. The tables had turned in a way, and now it would have been Daphne's family that would have to pay to get out of the contract to free their daughter for better matches.

Daphne was very much willing to dissolve, but the Malfoys either weren't able or willing to dissolve. Daphne suspected it was the latter. For them, the contract meant a good source of gold either way –easy money they needed, from what Daphne suspected and had heard. The Malfoys had cancelled the negotiations for the time being, at least, and were stalling. Since that moment, Daphne had resigned herself to her fate; if the Malfoys wouldn't budge, not counting her family somehow finding the money to free her or Draco suddenly dying, she would have to fulfil the contract and marry him. With the contracted House being the Blacks, even ignoring other demands the Malfoys might make during negotiations, the lowest price to buy out, a hundred thousand Galleons as stated in the contract, was very high for a minor pureblood house like the Greengrasses which had lost quite a bit in recent years and had invested the rest of their wealth for the long run. It was too steep a price for them, in fact, especially if the Malfoys wouldn't budge; and deciding not to fulfil, facing the consequences of breaking a magical contract was not an option for Daphne. Even marrying Draco was preferable to that unknown risk. Hadn't she heard enough about magical contracts in her youth to know not to fight them?

It had been tough weeks, seeing her life and visions shatter in front of her. Instead of a minor inconvenience, she had suddenly found herself confronted with the loss of freedom and choice. She had lost weight. She had had an unusual amount of trouble sleeping or focusing on a task. She had resigned herself to a loveless marriage to Draco. If it came to that, she could only hope they would each find another bed to share.

Her parents had been understanding, or at least, as far as they could. Her father, kind though he was, really hadn't quite grasped her problem with the situation. He was at home between bubbling potions, volatile brews and dusty tomes, not overtly comfortable with talking about feelings and emotional attachments, and as a result, struggling to be sympathetic. Her mother still clung to the illusion of the proper pureblood family she saw the Malfoys as. Death Eaters? Criminals? In the eyes of Daphne's mother, it had been a conspiracy to discredit a successful family, or so she claimed. Perhaps she just chose the comfortable delusion instead to of the truth; that was what Daphne suspected. If so, then in her mother's eyes, having to marry such an upstanding young man like Draco shouldn't really be a sacrifice. Perhaps Daphne's mother even hoped for love to bloom between Draco Malfoy and her daughter, no matter how unlikely that was. With these conflicting emotions, Daphne's mother hadn't been able to be the best of support. And going to Astoria with any worries would have been inviting trouble in itself.

And so, with resignation, Daphne had awaited the looming wedding to Draco Malfoy.

But something had to have happened, the miracle she hadn't dared to hope for. None of the other letters had mentioned another candidate, irrelevant of rank, yet suddenly one had popped up out of nowhere. True to tradition, Third Rank or below were not mentioned. They existed, yes, but were not part of an obligation for one reason or another. Most were too distantly related to be suitable, simple as that. Some were under other obligations that took precedence. And some, those without a rank, were unsuitable due to contractual clauses. Many contracts demanded pure humans as a condition; that way, halfbreeds were excluded who weren't proper partners for contractual unions, if at all in the opinion of purebloods. Some contracts had clauses about personal wealth. After all, what family wanted to give their child to some pauper? Some contracts had clauses about blood purity. Helena, Daphne's cousin once removed, wasn't suitable for that reason. Blacks, after all, only marry purebloods, and conversely, marrying a Black implied a pureblood; assuming anything else would have seemed highly insulting to the Blacks. Similarly, Squibs were generally out as well.

Again true to tradition, Second Ranks were mentioned, but not named. They were there, but not normally considered as candidates. They were a possibility should all First Ranks die, hardly more, and only then would the likeliest of Second Rank be elevated to First Rank to be named in the letters. Before, none of Second Rank had existed. Now there was one. The goblins were very thorough with it, checking each year, so something had to have happened over the last year to cause the sudden change and bring forth that mysterious Second Rank. Since the contract with the Blacks only allowed an age difference of seven years, there couldn't a new one have been born. The goblins were thorough; they wouldn't have overlooked a candidate before. Bastards were not suitable, so that was out, too. The most probable theory was a Third Rank getting elevated to Second Rank. It wasn't impossible, just very rare.

But there was more. The goblins had written about a _potential_ candidate of Second Rank. That was more than just a phrase, the implication being that this new candidate had a realistic chance to become her contracted partner despite Draco still being around. That was why this new candidate was really peculiar –he was Second Rank, and the due date, Draco's birthday, proved that no change in the plan had happened yet. So should nothing happen, either Draco dying or one of the affected parties buying out, then she would still have to marry Draco Malfoy. First Rank trumped Second Rank no matter what. So why was this new candidate even called a potential one? He shouldn't be, unless his status wasn't as fixed as it appeared to be. The only one who should be able to fulfil the obligation and therefore be called a potential candidate should have been Draco. But then, from the phrasing, this mysterious new boy that had come from nowhere could too, despite being a lower rank.

How? Could he become a First Rank somehow? Could he somehow take Draco's place? And just who was he?

Daphne decided she would have to check _Nature's Nobility_ for clues. And she needed inside information. She needed to ask someone who knew the Black family tree. She had to ask Millicent.

* * *

**That's another chapter down. Harry got the book, which is nice; Daphne got her letter about the marriage contract with the Blacks containing the startling and completely surprising information about a second candidate. Can you say plot twist? A first explanation about contracts in-story will be in chapter four, but for the time being:**

**.**

**Contracts rank the candidates for the fulfilment of the terms according to the relation to the family, for example Blacks as First Rank, children of Blacks as Second Rank, grandchildren as Third Rank. If no First Rank exists, the likeliest candidate of Second Rank is elevated to First Rank, partly to be named in the letter from Gringotts. Blood purity and the like can be considered, but need not be. They do not follow the traditional rules of inheritance and ****are more concerned with purity of blood, age difference, and proximity of blood to the original signatory ****to prevent children from having to marry half-breeds.**

**Contracts were meant as either means to alliances or as securities to protect against other families (you don't fight those you might have to wed a child to one day).**

**Contracts can either be general, stating that a child of one family has to marry a child of another, or contracts can be personalized, stating that person A of House A is to marry person B of House B. Should a contract of the first kind be activated, it will be replaced with one of the second kind.**

**General contracts can be fulfilled by marriage, dissolved for a payment stated in the contract itself by an affected party, or simply end after a certain time set forth in the contract itself, for example three generations. Neither clause is required in a general marriage contract, but they are part of almost each one for obvious reasons.**

**If a contract is dissolved, both sides sit down and agree on the specific terms. This can mean a higher payment of gold to reflect a gain in status or additional items like books, jewels, heirlooms or other possessions.**

**.**

**That should do for the moment, I think.**

**.**

**To address concerns brought forth over the visit to Grimmauld Place, I changed the chapter slightly to stress, first of all, Bill being wary because of the book they find lying around in a room without a very good explanation; in his words, "Just because I can't find anything doesn't mean there is nothing there. Every curse and poison is encountered once for the first time; I learned that the hard way in Egypt." Keep in mind, even school children are already told about undetectable poisons. Second of all, I added the sentence, "Bill frowned, suddenly alert" after Bill reading the title of the book out loud, and have him notice Harry taking the book, hesitating, but ultimately not saying anything, for which Harry is thankful; keep in mind Bill might still have no explanation for the book about the Mind Arts lying around, depending on whether the Order as a whole had been informed about Harry's Occlumency lessons. If not, then it is a suspicious book in a potentially booby-trapped building. Third of all, I had Bill's explanation of the possible dangers waiting for them in the house include traps in addition to the Inferi it mentioned before. All three should make my intention concerning Bill's behaviour clearer.**

**To address concerns over the clarity of the Daphne part, I changed the phrasing of her recounting of the history around the marriage contract slightly to clear it up a bit, for example replacing "his mother" with "his mother Narcissa". I specified the help Daphne received for her OWLs as coming from her house's sixth and seventh year -those had Lupin and Crouch-as-Moody in their fifth year -to clear up the confusion about Slytherins in the DA. In the same vein, I specified the OWL she did get -Exceeds Expectations -and alluded to Daphne's belief the grades might have been bumped up slightly to reflect the lower standards of their year. I also stressed the point of the Greengrasses not having the funds to buy out of the contract, the Malfoys suddenly finding themselves either unable to lack of gold -or willing with the intention of getting their hands on Greengrass gold one way or another. Similarly, I included lines about her being stuck with Malfoy, unless a miracle happens. Lastly, I specified the rules about Ranks in the explanation about contracts as well as added a stray thought of Daphne's about Blacks never being something other than a pureblood and the assumption otherwise being highly insultuing to them.  
**


	3. Daphne's Plan

Posted 10/30/2013

**.**

**Thanks for the reviews.**

**Concerning the book _The Mind Arts_, it is just about that, but then, everybody who has picked up an educational book targeted at adults will probably know what to expect from it -a large part will almost invariably answer such highly important question like the origins of the human mind and the theory behind the mind arts. And just like old people like to hear themselves talk, so do researchers and teachers like to talk about their findings. lightning king also raised an interesting question in his review; had Rowling ever really made Harry use powerful magic? The Patronus comes to mind, of course, and it shows what he can do. Apart from that, he has a surprising aptitude for dark spells, the Sectumsempra being the best example.**

**Marriage contracts, as edited in at the end of the last chapter as part of the annotations, do not follow inheritance laws. After all, what if a half-breed inherited it? Or a squib? That's why there are these rules about suitable candidates in the first place -that way, families of higher standing like the Blacks may be more picky about who is allowed to marry into their family. Still, AlsoKnownAsMatt did raise a good point, and it in turn made me explain the rules about contracts at the end of the last chapter instead of only revealing them over time in the story.**

**I chose a different path about Occlumency, Kairan1979. While I don't mind a mean Snape, I have seen a lot of stories depicting him as either a snarky teacher who actually does want to help an unwilling/incapable Harry, or a monstrous villain who had nothing better to do in his free time than to roadblock Harry's progress. Both have their advantages, but the world need not be one or the other.**

**Make no mistake, blinddivinity and purple sky always, writing about Daphne finding out about the mysterious Second Rank would have been fun, yes, but ultimately, I try to keep a certain pace -chapter six will have Harry at Hogwarts, for example. If I bother with Daphne finding out, then I will have to deal with keeping pretty much everyone involved up to speed with the various plot twists that concern them. The story will be long enough as it is, so sorry, but no; I had to cut somewhere. You're free to imagine Daphne huddled over a book for a few hours, gasping once or twice in surprise. This chapter is already over 8,500 words, and the next won't be that much shorter; if I added more scenes, I would have little choice but to split it into two parts to keep the chapters from getting needlessly clunky.**

**.**

**This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.**

* * *

**Chapter Three - Daphne's Plan**

.

"Hey, Harry."

He looked up from the parchment in front of him to the source of the sound. "Ah, Hermione. How nice of you to join the common crowd instead of hiding in your room. Good read, I assume? Mrs. Weasley wished me to inform you that she has put 'it' in the third cupboard. I assume you know what she meant?"

She nodded. "A good read, yes, but I needed a bit of fresh air. It is summer, after all, and a sunny day even. I thought I might as well read outside." It was then Harry noticed the bag over her shoulder. "And I know what Mrs. Weasley meant, yes; nothing for you to worry about, though. I asked her to get me something. Where is everybody?" She looked around. "I assumed Ron would be around. Summer and all, I would have expected you to go flying with him; instead, I find you not only inside but doing some writing? No that I'm complaining, mind you." She threw a quick glance at the parchment, but apparently couldn't decipher Harry's scribble.

"You could check the clock," Harry told her with a smile.

She shrugged. "And it will show mortal peril for everyone. As great as that clock is, right now it is pretty much useless. And even if that weren't the case, it wouldn't tell exactly where they are, right? Ron would show up as being at Home, assuming he is around, but whether he is sulking in his room or lounging under a tree, the clock would mark it as the same."

"Good point," Harry replied. "Well, let's see. Mr. Weasley is at work. Bill too."

"No surprise there," Hermione pointed out.

"True. Ginny is visiting Luna. She took her homework, so I assume they want to work on it. Makes sense, they have a few classes together. Mrs. Weasley took Fleur with her. They wanted to go buy something, but I suspect Mrs. Weasley just wants to shock her future daughter-in-law, perhaps to get her to reconsider the wedding plans by showing her the responsibility of being the wife of a Weasley. I doubt it would work, Bill and Fleur seem to love each other very much, but you'll never know. Ron is outside –weeding. I was asked to clean up in here," Harry gestured around the living room, "as it was a bit messy. That happens with so many people around. I did clean up; I'm done with my chore and have the time for myself. You were upstairs reading. The twins are obviously in Diagon Alley..."

"Yes, I get it," Hermione waved off. "Why aren't you out there helping Ron, though? I would have thought..."

"Are you kidding? With how slow he is working, he won't finish before the holidays are over. If I were to help him, I'd do basically all the work, and yes, I'm aware that is how you feel with us at school. No, he has to learn to tackle his chores with a proper mentality; lending him a hand won't do much good. Besides, he had his chore, I had mine. I'm finished, he is not."

"Fair enough and very mature. Maybe I should do that in school as well with you two? Would that help you do your own work?"

"We are doing it most of the time. You only look it over and make sure there aren't too many mistakes in there."

Hermione ignored his reply. She glanced at the parchment and quill in front of him. "So what are you doing? I thought you were already finished with most of your homework? Which, by the way, is very unusual for you, but also very welcome. However, I also know how you feel about writing essays, and it is a nice day outside, so to find you here, instead..."

He shrugged indifferently. "Well, it was quiet around here, so I drafted my will." He had to fight down the laugh that tried to escape him; Hermione reacted exactly like he had expected. She sighed, shook her head sadly and threw him a look of pity. Ever since he had returned from Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, she had occasionally done that, usually in the evenings when the inhabitants were winding down and relaxing before bed. He guessed she had noticed his changed mood after his return, and his helpless grief had been replaced by sadness over the loss.

"Oh, Harry, you shouldn't think about something like that. Come, let us go outside, take a walk around the house; that might cheer you up." She actually stepped towards him. "Or maybe watch Ron work, it might motivate him if he sees us enjoying ourselves, free of our tasks. Well, seeing you free of your task, but then, Mrs. Weasley gave me something to do this morning as well."

"Err, no. Hermione, I need to finish this, and I need to deal with this while I still can," Harry spoke, trying to keep any hint of sadness out of his voice. "I need a will. I have told you about the prophecy..."

"And you will win, Harry, even if I have to teach you everything myself. I will not let you die, not on my watch. I'll be by your side, and you will live through this. I will help you, and you will win." Her feelings hadn't changed since he had told his friends about the prophecy, nor had her tone –not that he had expected it. She was clearly still determined to stand by his side until the end. He smiled thinly as he remembered Hermione's black eye that she had gotten that day. After Mrs. Weasley hadn't been able to cure it, Fred had to drop by and give a small tub of paste that had worked exceptionally fast. Harry would have to ask the twins how it worked the next time he saw them –if Mrs. Weasley couldn't figure out how to remove the bruise but the twins did, what else could he learn from them? While their mother might be reluctant to accept it, both Fred and George were fairly smart and, more importantly, resourceful. But he'd have to focus on that later; he had a friend to convince at the moment.

"And you believe his followers will simply let it drop afterwards?" he asked Hermione, both knowing the answer. "Do nothing? No poison? No attacks? No cursed items flung my way, no traps? That they'll just quietly slink back into the shadows or their cells in Azkaban? And I'm not invincible; I could very well die in an accident. Actually, with my luck, that's a very real possibility. Or just look at Sirius. He certainly didn't think he'd die so young, yet he did. If he hadn't had a will in place, the Malfoys and Bellatrix as his closest living relatives would have gotten everything including the house, the wealth, and the elf. I don't want that to happen."

"They aren't that closely related to you," she reminded him.

He rolled his eyes. "Close enough. The Black wealth might go to them as the closest living wizarding relatives if I don't act. And ignoring that, it might also go to the Dursleys. I don't want them to get anything. Not a single Knut. I don't want them even close to anything of mine if I can help it."

"Harry..." Hermione tried to interrupt him, but he raised his hand to stop her.

"No. I have made up my mind. If I want my family to inherit, I will have to write it explicitly in my will; otherwise, it will likely go to the wrong people. But don't worry, I just want to be prepared; I don't want to die." It would happen either way, he added in his mind, what chance of survival did he have at the moment, reasonably speaking, and before he died, he had to finish his preparations for the eventuality. "And anyway, it really is fairly easy. It's not as if I have a lot of personal items to give away. Look at it like that: you'll get my books out of it, so it's a Win-Win for you."

Looks of shock, anger, and hurt flickered over her face, and for a moment, Harry thought she might hit him. Instead, she bent down and snaked her arms around his neck. Her hug was warm and altogether quite pleasant –certainly not one like Mrs. Weasley's. Then again, they were two distinctly different women, and even though Hermione might one day fill out, she was currently still considerably thinner all around, if surprisingly strong from constantly carrying loads of books.

While he wouldn't tell either one, Harry preferred Hermione's hugs as of late. Since she had grown up a bit and developed a sense of personal space and... well, sensuality, or maturity, in a way, she had moved towards softer, less restrictive hugs. Living with the Dursleys had taught him the worth of freedom. He really didn't like having someone's arms wrapping around him, and even less having his arms pinned to his side; he had learned his lesson in his childhood, even if no punches would come anymore. No, Harry much preferred Hermione's soft embraces.

Hermione pressed her face against his cheek. "Never think that way again, Harry." Her whisper was barely audible and her breath felt like fire. "You are irreplaceable, and no gift will ever lessen the pain of losing you. Please, Harry... I... Never... say something like that again. Please."

He sighed. He understood her. He did. He didn't want to die. The thought of leaving her or any of his friends behind was heavy on his mind. But he couldn't allow himself any illusions. Hoping blindly for his survival wouldn't help, wouldn't protect him or anyone else from the reality. His chances were very slim. He was horribly unprepared to face the challenges ahead, ironically because people like Dumbledore had wanted to protect him from harm, and simply not equipped to get out of it alive. The war would probably claim his life, one way or the other. When it did... if it did, he would be reunited with Sirius and his parents; he was certain of that. They were waiting for him, calling him from behind the Veil. He had heard his parents that night in the Ministry, he was sure of that. Maybe that was part of the power of the Veil -to hear those close to you who had died. "I'm sorry. I hadn't thought it through."

She let go with teary eyes. Swallowing, Hermione turned away, and when she faced him only moments later, she looked resolute. "Well, then. I understand what you mean even if I don't like it. It's these cruel times... children writing wills. Ah, listen to me, I sound like my Great-Grandaunt Maude, next I'll scare little boys from my lawn!" She laughed humourlessly before sitting next to him. Her bag dropped to the floor. "Let me see what you've got. If you have to this, and as much as I hate it, you probably do have to, then at least I can try to speed it up. No need wasting time, right?"

Obediently he pushed the parchment towards her. It wasn't as if he had anything to hide.

Strange, he wondered, as she read the few lines he had put down. He really didn't have a lot of secrets from her. Actually, most things he had refrained from telling her had been times he had covered for others. She didn't have to know about the talks in the dorm –not her business and not important. Guy talk stayed in the dorm. He assumed a similar code of honour existed among girls, and thought it better not to know girl talk.

"Okay, that is not as bad as it could be," Hermione spoke up, still glancing at the parchment with a raised eyebrow. "I do come out relatively well, you know?"

"You get my books, Ron my broom. Neither of you would be happy with the gift for the other," Harry defended. It was true; Ron didn't like reading, Hermione had no love for flying.

"True. Giving the map to the twins, fine, though I would advise you to not put it in writing," she gave him a pointed look. "It is better to leave as little clues to its existence as possible. It's probably for the best not to proclaim its existence to the world, especially if you leave it to two known mischief-makers."

Harry chuckled. "Mhh, good call."

Hermione nodded. "But the cloak? Really?"

"Well, it complements the map very well. Both are tools for the devious, and they might get a kick out of it. And I know Fred and George won't abuse it. More than we do. Regularly, then. Eh, I'll just let others worry about that."

"Fine, I'll give you that. So they get the cloak as well." She bit her lip. Ah, something bothered her, Harry realized. "It's just... Harry, I understand you, I do. But... well... the Weasleys... the twins... Ron... Neville... me..."

"I also leave Moody and Tonks something. Lupin and McGonagall too," he reminded her tapping a spot on the parchment.

"Yes, yes," Hermione replied rolling her eyes, "even though it's odd, Harry. But, well, you give everything to us few."

Harry grinned. "I didn't intend on a Viking's funeral; of course I give everything away. What did you expect? That I'd have something put next to me? What good would that do?"

She glared at him for a moment. "It reads as if you don't plan for the future at all, as if you limit yourself to those you already know. The way I read it, you leave not even a single Knut for your family."

"Err, I leave everything to my family. The Weasleys, Neville, Luna, Tonks, Lupin, McGonagall... even Moody. My family," Harry replied with a frown, not seeing where she was coming from. Hadn't he made his intentions clear enough?

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Moody? You consider..." She seemed to reconsider and shook her head. "Never mind. I meant, well... wife and children and the dog or cat and family owl and the gnomes in the garden. Your future family, you know? People you will care about in the future."

It took Harry a moment to overcome his bewilderment. "Wife? Children? Hermione, something you want to tell me?"

She threw her hands up in frustration. "Argh, you know what I mean! You are sixteen, reasonably wealthy, clean up quite nicely..."

"... I repeat, Hermione, anything you want to tell me?" Harry asked, although he had a hunch what she was talking about. It was true, he hadn't made any provisions for a family of his own, but he also didn't have any plans to start one anytime soon. He had a war to fight, after all.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "In, let's say, ten years, you might have a family of your own. That is what I'm trying to tell you, and you haven't made any provisions for that case."

Harry shook his head. "Well, that is still some time away, isn't it? And, should it come to that, I can always make a new will, can't I?"

Hermione stood and started pacing. Never a good sign, Harry knew, but actually irrelevant. He knew his will would probably not need provisions for a wife or children, pets or anything in the future. Since it wouldn't matter, he could give in if it really troubled her so much. She could have something for the wife and children if Hermione wanted to.

Wow, that was a strange thought.

"Well, if it bothers you that much... fine. Wife and children get everything, should some come to be?" He knew it was a significant change in writing, but it wouldn't change anything in practice. With no wife or children to come along, his original plan would still be in place.

"Much better," she replied smiling. "Now then, let's work on the wording... See here, this is actually quite ambiguous, it would be better if..."

* * *

Daphne had been lucky that Pansy had planned an outing so timely. True, Pansy needed new robes to go with her new look and for that she naturally needed her friends' opinion. The Parkinsons had to have paid royally to have her daughter worked over to such an impressive degree. She looked good, Daphne had to admit. Apparently, a few days in the sun had done wonders for the young girl, and since Pansy and her parents were still trying to attract the Malfoys' attention, they had pulled all stoppers. Daphne wished them all the luck they could get, and not only because it might give the Malfoys a reason to dissolve the contract.

That was the reason why Pansy had arranged the outing –to find something to catch Draco's eye during the next school year. Tracey had been ecstatic; she loved shopping, and since it had been combined with an invitation to lunch –an ideal opportunity for gossip –she had been sold on the idea.

Daphne had of course been happy to get out of the house, and not only because it fit her plans well. She had been able to act as if nothing had happened in the past few days, as if her letter had been exactly as she had expected. Before she tipped her hand, she needed a plan. A good plan, actually. She needed to confirm who she suspected this mysterious candidate to be. That had been why she had asked Millicent to check for the surprise Black descendant. Since Millicent's Great-aunt Violetta had married a Black, Millicent might have access to additional information, the secrets that were usually kept in the family. Maybe some squib's son? It was possible, at least if the late Sirius Black had somehow acknowledged this child's relation to the house.

So when Pansy had extended the invitation, Daphne had been eager to accept. It meant a day away from her parents and the hell spawn; neither had asked questions Daphne hadn't been able to deflect, but it was still risky to stay around them. Furthermore, it was a good excuse to meet with her friends and a possibility to talk with Millicent without being suspicious. To Daphne, leaving as little as possible in writing about her enquiries was a reasonable course of action.

Whether Millicent had been reluctant to join them or not, Daphne couldn't tell. She knew Mrs. Bulstrode had been very angry after the last school year –Millicent had joined the Inquisitorial Squad of Professor Umbridge and done the dirty work with just enough passion to be noticed by the student body as working against their interests, but had not been remarkable, and as a result, Millicent hadn't gotten any advantages or recognition out of it from the Ministry, but a lot of attention from the students. With the end of Professor Umbridge's influence at Hogwarts, Millicent had had to endure the taunts and repercussions of her actions without the benefits attached to it. Before, she had been the burly girl nobody risked challenging because she had been too unimportant to risk any retribution from. Some even suspected Troll ancestry, but didn't dare ask Millicent about it. After the Inquisition Squad, people had had a grudge against her. Millicent had lost some of her intimidation potential, and all due to her participation in the Squad. What good was it to betray your equals if one got nothing out of it? Millicent's mother had seen it as decidedly unbecoming for a Slytherin. Millicent had indicated punishments, yet refrained from explaining.

But she had come. And with a small nod she had told Daphne that she had found an answer. After spending five years in the same dorm, the girls had learned how to communicate without words or being noticed. Daphne had had to wait, to listen to Pansy ramble on and on about her holidays and the many visits to beauticians. Did she think it impressive to need that much help? But Daphne preferred the conceited Pansy to her grumpy, sniping side she had shown at the end of the last school year; it reminded her of her old friend she could tease without feeling too guilty.

Finally, Tracey had found something to distract Pansy and lured her towards the corner of the store, leaving Daphne with her heavy friend. Not one to waste time and such an opportunity, she quickly checked their surrounding. All clear; only Millicent was close. Good, finally. Daphne had feared she might have to ask Tracey for help with drawing Pansy away; the last she needed was for Pansy to know about this mysterious candidate. Friend or not, she might have passed the information on to Draco just to gain a better chance with him if Daphne's suspicion was spot-on.

"Well, Millicent, had a nice week?" she tried, smiling genially.

The other girl rolled her eyes. Her life had made her sulky, which, Daphne thought, was actually sad. Millicent could have been a sensitive and attentive girl, but instead she had developed into little more than henchgirl to Pansy, the brawns to the other girl's... well. "Not really. But that wasn't what you wanted to know, was it?"

"Right to the point then," Daphne replied, lowering her voice slightly. "You found something?"

Millicent nodded. "Yes, it wasn't that hard. There aren't that many people of Black descent left and even fewer males. Well, there is of course Draco, son of Narcissa Malfoy, daughter of Cygnus Black the II."

"Yes, I know. But I already knew about Malfoy, and he's still the most probable candidate as well as a First Rank. There has to be another one. So, who have you identified as the mysterious Black?" Daphne waited with baited breath. Had she been mistaken? She was fairly certain she was right in her assumption.

"Well, there is only one other who it could be." Millicent glanced around nervously before whispering, "Potter. His grandmother was..."

"Dorea Potter, daughter of Cygnus and Violetta Black, yes," Daphne interrupted, struggling not to smile. "I came to the same conclusion after a look into _Nature's Nobility_ -the only family I could find was Potter's, but I needed someone to double-check my findings. You can imagine my surprise, it was just luck no one was around. Well, yes, I did find him, but he should be a Third Rank at best under normal circumstances, not a Second Rank, and I wanted to be sure about it. So no one else?"

"No. To be fair, I didn't even know he had Black blood. He is as far from... well, anyway. Maybe someone from the Black family acknowledged his relation? It doesn't happen that often, but it's possible something like that happened. Maybe he impressed a Black? I don't know, but that might explain it. Anyway, I'm sorry I don't have good news for you, Daphne. I can't imagine how you are dealing with it."

But Daphne didn't listen to her anymore. So she hadn't made a mistake –Potter was the mysterious boy. She would have preferred someone who wasn't on the opposite side of the house rivalry, but it wasn't all bad. Or rather, instead of worsening her position, it was actually an improvement. She still had to marry Malfoy unless she found some way out –to find one had been the main problem over the last month. Buying out would not work; she didn't have the money. Kill Draco? Not really feasible, not with whom his aunt and mother were. Daphne didn't fancy dying, whether by her own hand or someone else's. Deciding to break the magical contract? No. Getting the Malfoys to buy out? Very difficult, especially with the limited wealth Draco's family struggled with at the moment. Even if Daphne helped Pansy to seduce him, he might still through with the marriage to gain access to the Greengrass-Black wealth. No, hoping for the Malfoys to buy out was not an option.

But she still had options left to her, and now more than before, all thanks to the unexpected new candidate Potter. It was worth a try at least, but it also needed to be handled cautiously. And it just so happened that she had the right person for the job by her side –Millicent.

"These are great news, Millicent," Daphne said.

The other girl frowned. "Are you sure? He's Potter, he is..."

"An affected party now, Millicent, with the right to buy out as well." Seeing the heavy girl's face light up in sudden realization, Daphne did smile, and continued, "I have a small favour to ask of you, but I need your word that you won't tell."

"Daphne..." Millicent started to lean away. No matter what people thought when they saw her, she had learned that lesson of living in Slytherin well; don't promise anything carelessly. "You know I can't make such a hasty promise."

"Well, alright," Daphne relented. It was too important to insist, and she had a feeling Millicent would keep quiet anyway. "I want you to help me with my negotiations with Potter."

"Me? Wouldn't Pansy be... more appropriate? She is..."

"I don't want her involved. You know her; she wouldn't keep anything secret from Draco. One look at him and her mind blanks out; she can't keep her mouth shut in front of him. For this to work, Draco can't know about it before it is done and over with, not when the Malfoys might plan to make me dissolve –if I get Potter to do it, the Malfoys won't get anything. No, I need to keep control of this. And Tracey, well, I like her, of course, and she is nice and all, but she isn't... well..."

"I'm only a half-blood, Daphne, just like Tracey," Millicent reminded her.

"Unlike her, you were taught our traditions by your mother, even if you don't get along with her that much. You know what is required as well as the importance of certain acts. Millicent, for what I have planned, I need someone who doesn't make a mistake along the way and is already familiar with the procedures. And you hardly count as a real half-blood, unlike Tracey. Who cares about that pint of blood?"

"Purists like the Malfoys?" Millicent replied with a wry smile.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "You just know Tracey would botch it. She's just too..."

"Helping you with that?" Millicent narrowed her eyes. "Well, I don't like it. I'm in enough trouble as it is already, but fine. It sounds like you already have a plan, so out with it."

Daphne smiled delicately. "Well, the Malfoys won't buy out, and I doubt my family can. Our money is tied up for years to come, unfortunately. But Potter could if we convince him. He is an affected party, after all; should Malfoy die before his birthday, Potter would have to step in. I'm not sure he would want to marry a Slytherin, or what do you think about that? Of course, should he decide to buy out..."

Millicent blinked once. "I figured as much. You already had that plan in mind when you came here, didn't you? You only wanted me to confirm what you had found out on your own –the identity of that second candidate."

"Yes, I did," Daphne admitted. "But then, it's the simplest of solutions anyway, once you take everything into consideration. If I can convince Potter to buy out, then he will naturally also cancel my obligation towards Draco. My family gets a bit of gold, Malfoy his freedom, whether he wants it or not; everyone is happy. I just can't risk my mother interfering, and I can't let the Malfoys try something; they might have plans for whatever gold I might bring into the marriage. If so, then they wouldn't like Potter paying me to get out of it."

"You haven't planned anything for Potter, other than have him pay you," Millicent observed.

"Well, who knows what he might want, but everyone has a price. I'll just have to find his, and to do that, someone needs to talk to him. Naturally, the first step is to get in contact with him and make him understand what this is about. That's where you come in. So, will you do it?"

Millicent stared towards the window front. "Alright. First though, Potter needs to be informed. I don't think you should send him an owl, not if you want to keep this as secret as you indicated. Potter will also need someone to explain it to him, unless you think he knows it already? Or do you want to overwhelm him with the contract?"

"No, I think he should know what we are talking about. I need him to go along with it and show him just why he should get himself involved; this is an important matter. You could speak to one of his friends to have them deliver a message about the contract. Someone who knows the traditions –so not Granger –and won't talk," Daphne added. "And you'd best tell them to keep it secret as well. Oh, and about the curious status of Potter as a potential candidate of Second Rank. Maybe it will help them."

"Let's see," Millicent spoke, pursing her lips. "Definitely not Granger, no. Weasley wouldn't work either. I can't work with the idiot, and he would never speak to a Slytherin. And the other Weasleys... I doubt they learn what to do anyway, nevermind getting in contact with them."

"Why not Longbottom?" Daphne proposed, knowing the boy had learned the traditions. "He's from your extended family, isn't he?"

The heavy girl frowned. "Well, it's a distant relation at best. But Longbottom should work. His grandmother raised him, and from what I heard, she places a lot of weight on our traditions. I'm not sure whether he could speak with Potter about this matter. I don't know whether he speaks all that much, actually."

Daphne bit her lip, seeing Pansy coming out of a stall. Time was running out, it seemed. "Well, we'll see, won't we? Ask him; as long as he doesn't blab, he should work."

Both nodded shortly and purposefully went different ways towards their shared friends.

* * *

It had gone wrong. They had been prepared, had lain in wait. A trap, and Harry had led his friends into it once again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the movement, recognized the stocky man. MacNair. How had they missed him before? With reflexes born from his experience, Harry threw himself on the floor, pulling Hermione with him. He saw the green shimmer of a curse missing him only by the breadth of a hair.

Stockton, the Auror that had been assigned to their protection, jumped into action. Good woman. Harry could see why she had been allowed to join. Mr. Weasley had sunken into a crouch flinging curses at MacNair.

But then, when had Death Eaters ever shown up alone? Two others jumped up from a table, disguised as simple guests. Trusting his instincts, Harry whipped his wand out and did the first thing he could think of: he summoned a nearby table towards him. One of the Death Eaters had flung a nasty-looking spell of sickly violet their way. It hit the table, which started to boil and melt before Harry's eyes.

"There!" cackled the other enemy, a skeletal woman with glowing eyes, and started her own onslaught. Hermione, ever the smart witch jumped to her feet. Her wand danced, with quick slashes some of the rubble around her transformed into a pack of dogs she sent towards the Death Eaters.

But more came out of hiding. Spellfire alarmed Harry to three additional attackers coming from a store in their back. Ron had acted brilliantly and was shielding everything he could. Harry sent two spells their way, but a yellow blast passed right in front of him: two more, from the left, hidden behind...

Harry cursed. Of course they had hostages. Dropping into a crouch, he ran towards a low wall.

Stockton was doing fine, but she had her hands full with MacNair and another enemy. Nine against eight. Weston had finally found his heart and jumped into the fray –he helped Ron.

"Well then, two, one..." And with a well-placed _Reducto_ just above the two Death Eaters with the hostages, Harry organized his own distraction. He threw himself to the side, rolled into the open and behind the next cover. Not wasting time, he rolled forward, jumped...

Yes, he had flanked them!

"_Stupefy!_" His spell connected, and one of the masked men dropped to the floor. On the upside, Harry had reduced the fight to a one-on-one, on the downside; his enemy knew where Harry was. With a growl, the man sent his spell. Harry let himself fall to the floor, and the spell missed him.

Just stay on your feet. Don't get hit. Trust your instincts. Don't think. Act.

Not waiting for the next attack, Harry rolled to the side, flinging a Disarming Charm at his opponent. A miss, of course, but more importantly, it was activity. Duck, his instincts yelled, and Harry did. Another spell missed him narrowly.

"_Stupefy! Expelliarmus!_" Keep him unbalanced! Harry's eyes came to rest on the window behind the Death Eater. The reflection of Spellfire told him his friends hadn't lost yet. Good.

The Death Eater slashed his wand again. "_Crucio! Crucio!_"

Not today, Harry thought, and jumped to the side. Foot buried deep in the rubble, he kicked some at his opponent. A particularly big chunk flew, and the man had to sidestep. The chunk smashed the window.

Now! "_Stupefy!_" Harry's spell connected, but with the hostage. The Death Eater wasted no time, experienced in similar situations. He grabbed a heavily bleeding man from the floor. But Harry had enough time to strike. Praying to everyone who could hear him, he cast his best Reducto at the ground, right in front of the Death Eater. It worked, or rather, it fulfilled its purpose: A cloud of dust was flung into the air. Harry concentrated. He knew he could do the spell as long as he didn't lose focus. The dust settled, and he could see the Death Eater pointing his wand.

"You're finished, Potter!"

Now or never.

Harry focused. With a nearly inaudible crack, the piece of glass from the broken window broke free and shot towards Harry in a straight line. With the knowledge of flying objects, he had pulled it off: The shard shot through the Death Eater, cutting his neck cleanly. Harry rolled to the side, the glass crashing ineffectively somewhere behind him.

The masked man fell to the side, head following just a bit too slowly in a shower of red.

Harry turned to the battle in his back and felt his blood run cold.

Stockton lay face down on the floor. MacNair stood alone, his comrades too felled. But neither Mr. Weasley nor Weston were anywhere in sight. Ron and Hermione still fought, only not on the same side: Even from the distance, Harry could see Ron's glazed over eyes.

Imperiused. He'd always been easily controlled.

Hermione sent something at Ron, hopefully something relatively harmless –why didn't anyone help? They couldn't be the only ones in the alley, yet no one else had stepped forward to fight them off –but in the meantime, MacNair managed to break through her shield. His spell connected.

As if in slow motion, her hands started bubbling, fingers blowing up rapidly like a balloon, and as the effect travelled up her arms and legs, her fingers broke open. In a shower of blood and flesh, shock edged on her face, Hermione's body was torn apart from within. Meeting his eyes, her lips moved, formed a word...

"_You..._"

And then, her eyes, accusing for just a moment, bubbled, blew up like a balloon...

Harry gasped for breath.

Darkness engulfed him as his eyes snapped open. The house was silent.

Great. That dream again. He had failed them. Again.

What time was it? It was still dark outside. Perhaps three in the morning. Another night with barely four hours of sleep. But he couldn't go back. He couldn't return to the dead Hermione. Not to the imperiused Ron. To the fallen Aurors. To his murdered family.

Another night of reading, then. If it was around three he would have about four hours until anyone would rise.

Maybe he should review the chapters about counter-curses from _Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts_. Knowing how to undo the worst of damage might prove to be useful some day, and from what he could tell, it wasn't something that was taught regularly at Hogwarts.

But he already knew them, at least in theory. He had to try them, cast them, to see whether he had actually understood them, and he couldn't do that at the Burrow. No matter whether the Ministry did notice or not, it was still against the law, and Harry had had enough run-ins with the law to last a life-time, he felt. Maybe improving his offence would be better; he could try to read up on a few curses to incorporate into his style. The ambush in the alley had proven as much.

It had been a dream, he reminded himself. There hadn't been an ambush. Ron was fine. Ginny was fine. Mr. Weasley was fine. Hermione was fine. Stockton was not real. Weston had never been born. All was well.

Healing spells would be useful too. Maybe he should ask Madam Pomfrey the next time he was in the hospital wing. Had he seen anything about them in any of his books? Harry couldn't remember. His mind was still hazy, pictures floating to the forefront.

What spell would cause such a gruesome death? Where had MacNair learned something like that?

He hadn't, Harry once more reminded himself. It had been a dream, and he hadn't left it behind yet. They were fine.

Harry grabbed his glasses and opened his trunk. Where had he put his book from _Practical Defensive Magic and its Use against the Dark Arts_? First, he found his potions book from last year. That was one class he wouldn't miss. Next, the _Monster Book of Monsters_ tried to bite him. Why had Hagrid assigned that book again? They hadn't even really used it! What a waste of money, and all for a stupid piece of...

Harry dug deeper. His hand found a cold leather cover he hadn't expected. Curious, he pulled it out. Sirius' book. He opened it. "_The Mind Arts, by Josefina Smith,_" he read. His fingers ran over the words. Since he had thrown the book into his trunk the day he had visited Grimmauld Place, he hadn't thought about it. He hadn't told anyone about it. He had been ashamed of his moment of weakness, of taking the book in the first place, and of literally doing it behind Bill's back. Then it had slipped his mind, in a way, while he had been helping around the house. And then, when he might have explained it to the others, it had been too late to mention it without looking suspicious.

The Mind Arts. Occlumency. Dumbledore had wanted him to learn it. Sirius had wanted him to learn it. Lupin had told him to learn it. Yet Harry had failed. He had no talent for it. Snape had said so.

... No. Harry wouldn't give up so easily. Just because Snape had said so didn't make it the truth. Maybe there had been some reason for Harry to struggle with it. Learning how to protect the mind, wouldn't that be vital when fighting Voldemort? Or his Death Eaters? What good would it be to know obscure spells when the enemy could read which one he would use? Yes, Harry realized it might be the most vital aspect of his preparation. Why hadn't Dumbledore arranged for lessons right from the start of Harry's fifth year? But no matter.

The Mind Arts.

Well, it was better than nothing. It was something new to read. It was something he might need. It was something that interested him. He leafed forward a few pages, skipping the table of contents.

"Chapter One – The Nature of the Mind," Harry began, getting more comfortable.

* * *

The sound of movement on the stairs shook him out of his reverie. Turning, he saw Mrs. Weasley coming into the room.

"Harry? Oh, you're awake, good. Ron said you had gone for a nap."

Harry blinked. He hadn't said anything about a nap to his friend when he had left earlier. Well, all the better, he thought. If they thought he had slept a bit, who was he to correct their mistake? He could imagine the faces if he told them he had wanted to read, especially since they still didn't know about Smith's book. No one could be more surprised than he was, though. Harry had expected a difficult read when he had first picked up the book after waking from his mightmare. After the first chapter, he had been tempted to burn the horrible tome just for existing and taunting him for his own inadequacies. It had been ridiculously complicated, and he had understood nothing from the text. Not even an inkling! The nature of the mind? Not worth the headache, apparently.

Only morbid curiosity had tempted him that night into giving the next chapter a chance. It had been equally bad, and he had regretted ever opening the book when, literally on the last page of the second chapter, he had he felt something take root in the back of his head. The chapter had been an introduction into the relation of magic and mind. True to form, Harry hadn't understood what Smith had wanted to tell her readers. Why even include a chapter about something like that? Smart wizards and witches were more capable. There. One sentence, and everything that mattered and was true, right?

Well, no, apparently not. Instead, she had written extensively about P-lines and J-peaks, Lyra-intersections and a lot more that Harry had never heard anything about. Utter crap, the whole book, he had decided, when that strange feeling had risen in himwhile reading the last page. There had been... something important buried within all these paragraphs. Smith had written about categorizing magical people according to the outlined characteristics. He may not have been able to follow her complex theories, but he still had the impression that there had been fundamental aspect of the Mind Arts, or perhaps magic as a whole, hidden within the elaborated explanations. Could people have different strengths, depending on their... intersections and peaks and loops and lines, dots, angles and whatnot? If so, perhaps there was more to the Mind Arts than what Snape had made him believe. With that suspicion occupying his mind, he had decided to read on. That was the reason why, when the others had wanted to play Exploding Snap a few hours ago, Harry had excused himself and left for his room to read in Smith's book.

"Ah, no, I'm up," he replied, forcing himself to smile. Just a few more pages and he would have grasped the underlying idea, would have understood the relation between magic and mind Smith had spent so much time building up to in a book about the Mind Arts, he knew it. Just a few more pages, just a few more minutes would have sufficed. All he had learned was that the mind had some influence on magic, but not the nature of it. Did strong magic help with the mind arts? Or was it the other way around? Did a strong mind help with the magical protection of itself?

But it didn't matter; he'd figure it out later.

"I'm up," he repeated, closing the book and putting it on the nightstand.

"Good, good. Well, I came to tell you dinner is almost ready," Mrs. Weasley said. "There was also an owl for you," she added, pulling an envelope from her pocket and handing it to Harry.

Curious, Harry opened it. He recognized the script quickly as Neville's and scanned the few lines.

"It's from Neville," he told Mrs. Weasley, who had busied herself with straightening the curtain of the window. "He wants to come over soon. He has something he wants to talk to me about."

"Well, that's alright, dear," Mrs. Weasley replied, "you know your friends are alwas welcome here. Did he write when he wants to come over?"

"Err, Tuesday, and for maybe an hour, he writes. His grandmother is having him do quite a bit in the garden, apparently, so he's kind of busy most of the time."

"Tuesday then," Mrs. Weasley confirmed, heading out the door, "Write him back, will you?"

Harry was left to think about the letter. What did Neville have to talk to him about? His mind jumped to Neville's parents first. They had suffered a horrible fate, and all because of the war that had taken James and Lily Potter, the same war that had cost Sirius years of his life. Did Neville want to commiserate? But no, that made little sense. Harry's mind jumped to something he had in common with Neville –the prophecy. Had Neville learned about it? Had he heard about the contents? Did he believe the rumours in the _Daily Prophet_? No, that couldn't be it either. So what did Neville have to talk about?

Well, come Tuesday, Harry would know; until then, all he could do was send the reply.

* * *

As if someone had switched a light on, Harry woke up. His dreams had been filled with death, destruction, and loss as was usual for him lately. This time, it had been Dementors, swarms of them, invading Hogwarts. With Dumbledore's Army stretched too thin and the teachers strangely absent, they had had no chance. The bodies of dozens, hundreds of students had littered the corridors, and Harry had had trouble fighting back, back somehow, miraculously, he had managed to stay just one step ahead. He had done a good job defending the Entrance Hall, which, considering the situation and the many other places without sufficient defences, had meant the Dementors were running out of victims elsewhere; they had begun swarming into the Entrance Hall from all floors. The dread had lifted slightly as he had fought with Ginny in his back, both covering half of the room, even though it wasn't enough to hold the masses back, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye: one of the first-years, soulless, had fallen down from above, directly on Ginny. It had happened too fast to recognize the boy, but the Dementors didn't give him time to check. They started picking people he could no longer cover fully, dragged them away high above him to be robbed of their soul; another defeat Harry had to suffer.

But for once, he hadn't woken up because of the dreams. In all the chaos and devastation, Harry had come to the realization that had been lurking in his mind, the answer to the one question that had been bothering him incessantly in his waking moments; it was the answer that had been on the tip of his tongue. Suddenly and in the middle of his dream, as if hit by a punch, he had made the connection, had grasped the meaning of Josefina Smith's explanations. He had understood what she had meant with the peaks and lines and all of those stupid names. Why hadn't he seen it before? He had known it for months already, even though he hadn't had a clear understanding of the implications. Hadn't he noticed it during the lessons with Dumbledore's Army? It made perfect sense, now that he thought about it, or as much sense as magic usually did to him. He still struggled with the idea of peaks, lines, intersections and every other term Smith had used, but he had figured it out well enough for his purposes. What did he care about the proper terms or the finer details at the moment? He had his breakthrough.

All came down to personalities, he realized, his mind still slightly sluggish. Why should he care what others called it? He understood it basic principle. Magic and the mind, or the personality, to be precise, were linked. Of course they were, hadn't he wondered why Ron had learned the Patronus faster than Hermione? Why Luna, dear as she was, had no trouble at all with the spell when Padma Patil, no slouch for sure and quite clever, had fought hard to keep up even the mist? But he hadn't thought about the people in terms of character. The Patronus, a spell relying on strong positive emotions, was more difficult to learn for the logically inclined. Hermione had tried to crack it, to understand the how and why, and given enough time would probably have started analysing the exact amount of hope required for a Patronus. That was how her mind worked; when faced with a problem, she tried to rationalize it as best as she could.

Ron on the other hand was both more emotional and of simpler mind. Naturally, he would have less of a problem to recall a happy memory because he wasn't as troubled with categorizing his feelings, and if he was told to think of something that made him happy, then he didn't question it. His mind worked differently, and for a spell that required an emotional factor to work, he would be at an advantage, simple as that. Conversely, spells with more attention to detail, transfigurations for example, were Hermione's forte. Luna, unencumbered with image and believing in obscure theories, didn't view the world in terms of logic as much. She would have no trouble simply picking a happy thought or memory, and she would have believed Harry's explanation instead of questioning it. Or perhaps, Harry mused, the success with the Patronus had to do with death. Someone like Luna who had a lot of happy memories to draw from, but also knew of loss might have an easier time taking hold of one of the happiest moments. With the contrast of bad memories, the good simply stood out more.

Following the original train of thought, if the character of a witch or wizard made them more or less adapt at certain kinds of magic –influenced how they worked a spell –then of course the same would be true for the mind arts. That explained perfectly why Smith had wasted four chapters on it –if that was the influence of character, and since said influence might just be stronger when applied to the mind arts, then of course the first step in learning them had to be the classification of the student's mind. Although he didn't know where it would come into play, he had finally made progress and an explanation why he had struggled with Occlumency so much. If his theory was correct, he needed to find out what kind of mind he had.

He flipped the book open to the table of contents.

There it was. "Chapter Seven - On the Categories of the Mind," Harry read. His eyes travelled to the window. It was dark outside, but on the horizon, the sky had started turning a lighter shade of grey. Sunrise was close.

He couldn't sleep, not with the epiphany he just had. Not when he was so close to progress.

* * *

**That's it for chapter three. Not really nail-biting action, but still needed, I think, to set the stage for later developments. The next chapter will be called Mind and Traditions, and going by what was in this chapter, you can pretty much guess already what will be the focus.**

**.**

**Since some might wonder about it, Daphne and Millicent are referring to a troubled relationship with an ambitious Mrs. Bulstrode. That's about as much as one _needs_ to know. Since I have a soft spot for Millicent, though -as evidenced by my other story, After the Ball , with its own continuity, obviously -I also thought up a background story for her that, unfortunately, doesn't really play a role, quiet girl that she is. Her father, a pureblood, is of little importance here, only to pass the name to her. The mother is the half-blood daughter of a Muggle and a wizard, perhaps one with a bit of creature blood. Resenting her nonmagical heritage, Mrs. Bulstrode tried to raise her daughter to be as much like a pureblood as she could. No, that is not really all that important, it only explains why Millicent has a pureblood name -Violetta Bulstrode having married a Black, indicating the Bulstrodes were a pureblood family of some renown -and is familiar with the traditions, yet still be a half-blood like the documentary Harry Potter and Me implied.**

**About Harry preferring Hermione's hugs, no that's not hinting at a possible love for them; it's the difference between having your arms pinned to your side or rib-crackingly tight hugs and the considerably more mature embraces Hermione would bestow once she realizes she shouldn't squeeze the stuffing out of her friends. Think child clinging to a plush toy and hugging the mother/father, or perhaps the difference between punching the dog and petting it -more care involved.**


	4. Mind and Traditions

Posted 11/05/2013, Edited 11/7/2013

**.**

**As always, thanks for the reviews.**

**Both TeninChwang and Paladin Nox pointed out that I tend to lean towards wordy. Well, I can't argue against that, sadly. It's true. Fanfictions have to deal with the time it takes to tell the story. Unlike a book, readers can't wait until the end and then decide whether there was some question left unanswered, they are entitled to understand what is going on at the moment. Completely understandable, but also a problem for the author in my opinion who has to make sure whatever he is trying to get across is clear. Some scenes need ambiguity, yes, but others need to be clear enough so readers won't get the wrong idea. It's tricky to get that balance right, unfortunately. Just take this chapter, for example. It ended up over 10,000 words -you thought the last chapters were wordy? Think again.**

**Mr. Eclipse, you mentioned people speaking more eloquently than they should in this story. Quite possible, yes. That is tricky to get right as well, but I'm trying not to have them drift off into clichéd babble among teens. Better too eloquent than too childish, I think, and that might be why people might occasionally end up as too mature.**

**Whether, and if so, when and why this setup will lead to interactions between Harry and Daphne is at least part of the reason for this constellation. I've read stories with the main couple -let's say, Harry and Daphne -meeting and falling in love at first sight. I've seen stories of them accepting their fate and, since they can't change it, deciding to go along with it -if they are already married, why not roll in the hay until the Judgement Day and not worry about the world? Both are fun to read, neither is the approach I'm trying here. Once more I'm choosing a third option.**

**purple sky always, you are right Neville is not given much credit, especially considering just how much he was actually involved in the first book. Then again, the decision to include him was the result of logical deduction. Bulstrode and Greengrass needed someone who could explain it to Harry. That means someone who is aware of the traditions and on speaking terms with him. A teacher might have worked, but getting an adult involved would have felt strange, I think. The Weasleys are purebloods, but Ron is not very likely to act reasonable, the twins aren't that trustworthy from a Slytherin's point of view, the older brothers are either too old to know either of the girls or too stuffy to be a good messenger for Harry. Dean is Muggle-raised, Seamus might have been taught the traditions, but perhaps not... you get the idea. Neville is more or less the best choice, and it does help that he isn't known to be confrontational with Slytherins. Now that I think about it, though, I realize just what an opportunity I have wasted there. I could have gone with Luna. Oh, well, won't change it now.**

**.**

**This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.**

* * *

**Chapter 4 – Mind and Traditions**

.

So he was the emotional-chaotic, instinct-driven, strong-willed type, Harry thought for the dozenth time, as he adjusted his grip on the broom. Naturally he was, what else had he expected? It was surprising how predictable that had been. Perhaps, deep down, he had known beforehand. How could he not? The difference between him and Hermione was glaring, no one in their right mind would think of them as comparable.

According to the book, people like him were fairly adept at emotionally powered spells. Well, that was true, in a way. His Patronus was quite strong. What worried him more was the flipside of that realization –the spells classed as emotionally powered were quite often dark, and he didn't consider himself to be dark by any sense of the word. Or was he mistaken? Did he perhaps fight against his own strengths by not using the darker magic? Smith had made a good point in her explanations; a lot of spells were classed as dark simply because they were harmful to a varying degree. Bone-Breakers were dark, or rather, shady. In the grey area. If they hit the right spot, they were potentially lethal. Yet Bone-Breakers were still not banned, despite their harmful nature. The same could be said for some cutting curses. Dark magic, Smith had mentioned, was not necessarily evil in itself; as with other kinds of magic, some were largely dependant on the intention.

Turning his attention elsewhere, he focused on the next part of his findings. He could understand the aspect about his chaotic mind. It was true; he made the strangest connections under the unlikeliest circumstances. Hadn't he made his breakthrough by stuffing the knowledge in his head and letting it rest for a while? Hadn't he found the answer while dreaming about his dying friends? Yes, it made sense. Since his mind wasn't orderly, forcing it to work that way was working against his type. He needed the mess, to a point, or had to have his mind completely recreated. That had to be the reason why Snape's lessons hadn't worked properly –it had been working against his nature. Snape had to have made some kind of mistake; he had likely chosen an ill-suited method to teach Harry. Why hadn't Snape done a few of those handy tests and checked first what he had to work with? Because it was Snape, a part of Harry told him, when had the bitter man ever done anything right when it came to Harry. But he didn't have time to focus on that, instead the continued his previous thought.

He had always been rather good with his instincts, Harry mused, catching the Quaffle from Hermione as if to prove a point. Easily evading Ginny, he thought about his past. His instincts, honed during his life at the Dursleys, had always helped him during Quidditch. And he had only survived his duel with Voldemort because he had trusted those instincts. So, yes; instincts were a strong point of his, Harry agreed. That they also made him more receptive to foresight was strange, but inconsequential. He knew he didn't have the Inner Eye. Years in Divination had proven he lacked the talent, so why should he worry about that. Then again, Harry thought with a smile, even the fraud might not know she had the gift, so it was entirely possible he had some skill in Divination after all.

With a lazy flick of his hand, he scored again.

"Aw, Harry! What's gotten into you today?" Ginny groaned. "I'm the chaser prodigy around here!"

He shrugged and returned to his spot.

The strong will wasn't unexpected, and it fit. Strong will, the book had said, granted resistance to external influences. It allowed shaking off the effects minor love potions and mind altering spells. It increased the likelihood of a witch or wizard noticing manipulations as well. Harry couldn't remember ever having been dosed with a love potion, but assumed Smith's theory was nonetheless true. Perhaps it also helped Harry shake off the Imperius? It would make sense, he mused. As far as he knew, no one else had ever successfully shaken off Voldemort's Imperius Curse, yet Harry had done it in the graveyard. And then there was Fleur's Allure. That too made sense once he took it into consideration. The first time he had met a Veela –at the World Cup –he had been captivated just like every other guy, even though they had been all the way down on the field. He might have jumped down just to impress them. He had been captivated by their power in the stadium, yet the same evening, he hadn't reacted to the Veelas in the forest at all, despite passing them close enough that he could have touched them.

He hadn't thought about it much back then, not with the attack of the Death Eaters and the other incidents that night, but while Ron had once more fallen for the Veela's charm and Allure, Harry couldn't even say whether he had felt anything special in that moment. And Fleur usually had no effect at all on him. Perhaps his strong will did help him overcome some of the hardships in his life; if so, Harry was thankful for that.

But even though he knew all that now, he still had no idea how it would help him learn the Mind Arts. Sure, it factored in somewhere. But where? Unfortunately, Mrs. Weasley had sent Ron to wake him just as he had wanted to start on the chapters about Occlumency. Tough luck.

He swerved, but failed to stop the pass. Ginny easily caught the Quaffle, streaked up the field past Hermione who... did something. It looked as if she had waved, but she had probably hoped to block something with it. No matter, Harry reasoned, Hermione and he were on the offence. He easily caught the ball and evaluated the situation. Ron was starting to get used to Harry's play. Ginny had shown her talents as a Chaser, and both knew who they had to keep an eye on.

But he was still far better at dives. He turned the broom upwards, forcing it to go faster. He missed his Nimbus. It had been a good broom. He missed his Firebolt; however, it would have been unfair to force Ginny on Charlie's old broom, she had reasoned. There was some truth to that, yet how she had convinced him to lend her his beloved broom, Harry had no idea.

They were tailing him. Good. He hadn't had a chance to try it at school last year thanks to Umbridge's intervention, but nothing would stop him now. For just a moment, he gave up control over the broom. No control also meant it was just a stick of wood and not controlled by the usual spells stopping narrow turns. He twisted in midair, a move he had thought up during the last summer, and within the blink of an eye, he had turned around on the spot instead of the arc it usually took. Jamming the broom between his legs, he urged it forward, downward, right through his friends and tails. Heh. Racing towards the ground faster and faster, he saw Hermione close to the hoop. He guessed the Weasleys were right behind him, Ginny closer than Ron, naturally. Pass or play? In the end, Ginny made the decision for Harry –she passed him, the superior broom helping greatly, and blocked his path towards his teammate, forcing him off-course. Well, alright. He tried the shot and missed, but it was still close. He lingered airborne, and smiled at his friends. It was fun.

"Are you mad?" Ginny yelled as soon as she was close enough. Well, fun for him, at least.

"A bit?" he replied with a laugh. "Come on, you know I'll never get to try that at Hogwarts, Hooch would have kittens, and McGonagall would have me serve detentions for weeks."

"You almost knocked us off our brooms! That was..."

"You're just jealous because he thought of it and not you," Ron interjected. "But she's right. Utterly mad, you are. Brilliant move, but mad. Any idea what you'll call it?"

Movement below caught his attention. Mrs. Weasley walked over to the pitch, but she wasn't alone. Neville was with her. Harry blinked, surprised his friend was there. Had they really played that long already? They had to have, but he couldn't quite believe it. He had thought they still had an hour at least.

Harry flew over to them.

"Ah, good," Mrs. Weasley began. "Did you have fun?"

"Yes, I had," Harry replied, landing softly. "Hello, Neville."

Mrs. Weasley smiled warmly. "No problem! Will you stay for dinner?"

Ah, good Mrs. Weasley, Harry thought. Always trying to feed everyone she came across. At least with Neville she couldn't say he needed fattening up, he was properly fed and looked it too. "Err, no. Gran will expect me, I'm sure. The elf will have started already."

"You have an elf?" Hermione's voice cut in. Great. Another discussion Harry would have liked to go without, especially since he really wanted to learn whatever Neville had found out.

The boy scratched his cheek. "Yes, we do. But then, a lot of pureblood families have one or more. He was a wedding present to my parents, and he's helping my Gran and me now."

"But don't you see how awful that is? That is everything SPEW fights against! How can you –a member! –just stand by? You don't even call him by his name!"

Neville shrugged half-heartedly. "Well, mostly because I can't. He's from a distant relative who... err... gave him a name consisting mostly of x, h, f and g and no vocals. She had a speech impediment, you see, and thought it funny to have others struggle as well. And I don't consider it awful to let him work. I don't intend to free him any time soon -it would be stupid, actually, because he feels obligated to work for the Longbottoms; if I set him free, it'd break his heart. Additionally, shortly after leaving school, my father arranged to set a bit of money aside each week for the elves and their wishes."

Harry would have laughed at Hermione's expression of disbelief. Someone being kind to their servants seemed to have left her speechless, not to mention had left her robbed of her strongest arguments. After another moment, she caught herself and changed topics.

"How did you do in your O.W.L.s?"

"Ah, yes, that," Neville replied with a sad smile. "Gran was not happy, but it could have been worse. She was very disappointed with my Potions grade. I'm happy with my Acceptable. At least I don't have to see Professor Snape anymore. Acceptable, really? I wouldn't have expected it, to be honest. Luck must have been on my side. Could you imagine me continuing? Honestly, I'm surprised I managed an Exceeds Expectations in Defence Against the Dark Arts. I know I picked up quite a bit during our meetings, but..."

"Don't sell yourself so short, you were very determined," Harry interrupted. "I do think you deserve the grade; you are talented."

Neville nodded slowly. "Thank you. I already heard –Outstanding. Well deserved, Harry. You were a great teacher." Ron and Ginny, who had joined them, agreed loudly. Hermione nodded, but her smile looked a bit strained. After years around her, Harry could read her like... well, maybe not a book, but a brochure. While she was happy for him, not being the best did bother her more than she was willing to admit.

"So, I assume you came to talk to me? You said so in your letter," Harry began. No need to waste time, and best to extract Neville before Hermione got over her shock and distracted them more.

"Ah, yes. Err... you do have... a bit of time, right?"

Harry looked to Mrs. Weasley. He would have loved to talk, but ultimately had to follow her plans, and dinner was drawing nearer. She waved it off. "Don't worry. Dinner is in about an hour and a half, so unless you need more, you can of course talk about it right now."

It was Neville who answered, "That should be enough time, thank you. An hour and a half... it should work. I think. I'm not sure, actually. It depends. I mean..." He glanced at Harry, wondering about something, from the look of him.

"Well, best not to waste any more time, then," Mrs. Weasley interrupted. She took the broom from Harry and pushed it in Ron's hand. "Lock them up and then come inside. You can help me."

"But I wanna stay with Harry!"

Neville scratched his cheek. Oho, Harry thought. Something was up! He recognized the look. "Not really you want to," Neville said, avoiding Ron's eye. "It is painfully boring nonsense."

Bad move, Harry thought. Painfully boring nonsense that might take over an hour to explain away from prying ears was exactly up Hermione's lane. But then, she was fortunately too properly raised not to help Mrs. Weasley; although she wanted to stay, her sigh telling as much, she didn't complain and followed Mrs. Weasley and a grumbling Ginny inside.

Once everyone was out of earshot, Harry turned to his friend. "You set aside money for your elf?"

"We do. Of course, he is under orders to use it only for necessities like potions or stuff like that, to keep him alive, you know, so we don't have to decide every little thing. However, I wasn't about to tell Hermione that; she's already nutty about elves. But that doesn't matter right now._"_

Neville and Harry strolled towards the pond in silence. Finally, Harry had enough; he could tell Neville wasn't sure how to begin the talk. "Got a new wand already?" Harry tried.

"First thing Gran and I did after school let out. Now that You-Know-Who is out in the open... well, it's just the two of us, you know? And she fears..." He shook himself, but the grim look in his eye didn't completely vanish. "But that's not why I came here." He threw a glance over his shoulder. "I was approached yesterday. Bulstrode –Millicent, I mean –asked me to deliver a message to you."

Harry stared at his friend. When no further explanation followed, he stared out over the water. "Is that so? Bulstrode –Millicent, you mean –asked you to deliver a message?What are you, an owl? Why did she not talk to me directly?"

"Well, for one thing, you are kind of hard to get into contact with. And this is about... well, about a pureblood tradition, and they aren't that important anymore. Only feuds come to mind. Well, feuds and marriages, but..."

"Well, I can't remember ever dating someone long enough for marriages to matter, and I don't think it's a feud either," Harry replied, trying to move the talk along. "So what is it, then?"

Neville smiled nervously. "It's not easy to tell you, Harry; it requires a bit of an explanation, and it doesn't concern the Potter family, but the Blacks. Do you have any connection to them?"

It was Harry's turn to tense. A tricky question, he realized. He did have something to do with them –Sirius had left him a lot, but he wasn't sure he wanted to say that. "Neville? Do you remember our first year? When we took a stroll through school at night?" It had been a sudden inspiration, and Harry was quite happy with the idea.

"When you lot dragged me to the trophy room?" the blonde boy asked, raising an eyebrow. "And that crazy, three-headed dog? That stroll for which you still haven't apologized? Or did you mean that one time when I tried to warn you about Malfoy and the dragon? Or perhaps that time shortly before school let out, with 'We' meaning Hermione, Ron and you? You went out a lot that year."

He was Neville alright. "All of them, I guess. You never told anyone about the dog. You never pressed us for details either. You know how to keep a secret, and you have proven you can be trusted; you are a good friend. I have a connection to the Blacks, yes, but I'm not sure whether it's wise to tell people. Sirius left me a lot in his will. His house. Gold. A few trinkets, I guess. I had no time to look through everything, so I can't tell you what exactly. I'll do that later, maybe, but with everything going on..."

"Sirius Black? The... ah. Well, I guess that makes sense." Neville nodded slowly as comprehension dawned on his face.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked a bit more sharply than he had intended. "Why does that matter? Did he do something wrong there?"

"Ah, sorry," Neville spoke, blushing. "No, he didn't do anything wrong, it's just... it had consequences he might not have thought of. I don't know how... well, alright. Yes, I..." He took a deep breath, steadying himself for the uncomfortable revelation. "There is no easy way to tell you –there's a marriage contract for the Blacks dating back about a hundred years, and there's a small risk it might affect you."

Harry stumbled, but caught himself. Any talk with marriage in it was far too serious for his liking. Any talk with the word contract in it coming from a wizard made him even more wary after the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Any talk with the two combined could only spell disaster. A very bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

"What... what do you mean by that?" His mouth felt very dry all of a sudden.

Neville sighed. "Am I correct in assuming you know nothing about contracts?"

"I... no! What... where... why would..." Harry blinked. If he had thought his mind had been chaotic before, it was nothing to how it was at the present.

Neville stared over to the pond. "Before I start, Harry, there is a strong likelihood that you might never have anything to do with that contract. Currently, you are only a candidate of Second Rank –although why, I'm not sure –so you are basically just a replacement should something happen to the current candidate for the Blacks. The way things look right now, there is only a small risk that it might concern you; however, there still is that small risk."

"Alright, thanks for pointing that out," Harry said, feeling his head clear somewhat. While still not good news –no matter what Neville said, there was a difference between a small risk and no chance of something happening; Harry knew what to expect with his luck –somehow, he would get roped into it. "So, marriage contracts. You said Bulstrode talked with you?"

"The contract isn't for Bulstrode, she was just asked to help get in contact with you. The contract in question continued down the line from Alphonse to Daphne Greengrass..."

"From Slytherin?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Yes, a Slytherin," Neville replied. "Not that surprising with Bulstrode involved, but it doesn't really matter all that much, does it? Some of my relatives were Slytherins in their time. Uncle Algie, for example. Granted, he is still frighteningly ruthless when he wants to be, but the point still stands –Slytherins aren't bad by definition, those at Hogwarts just act like that."

"Sorry, it's just... I don't know. I hadn't expected her name to come up, I think. Start from the beginning, please. Start with... what are these contracts? I don't want to assume, but..."

Neville smiled at him. "To understand what I'm talking about... Well, I don't have time for the long version of it right now, there's over a thousand years of traditions connected to it, but I'll go over the important aspects. In essence, marriage contracts are something like that: Two families decide to wed two people –one child of each family. It's an antiquated habit that has fallen out of favour for the most part, but it's dating back to the Feuding Ages. Back then, it was a means to stop a feud or strengthen the bonds between two lines by forming an alliance. Very rarely, it was part of a political manoeuvre that we would call an insurance against an attack.

"When people from two powerful families marry, the Blacks and the Malfoys, for example, and another family, let's say, the Bones, might have a feud with one of them, the Bones might demand some kind of sacrifice to calm their fears of an attack. That's where another tradition originated, first a ritualistic blood sacrifice which led to marriage contracts as insurances –spilling a bit of blood is cheap, but you don't fight with families you might have to marry one of your children off to –and ultimately to gold transfers to threatened families since gold is easier to come by than children and feuds weren't as commonplace –but I'm getting side-tracked. Sorry, it's just..."

"So if a Black and a Malfoy married," Harry interrupted, trying to get the facts straight, "thanks for the mental image, by the way, they had to marry another child to the Bones? Wouldn't that lead to a circular process? Threaten others?"

"Well, only if there is a feud with another family would there be the need for insurance in the form of yet another contract.

"So in the case of the Blacks and the Malfoys from before, they would sign a contract, either by naming two specific people –that's what we call a personalized contract; it only affects those expressly stated –or by saying, in essence, that should certain conditions be met in the present or future –usually something about age and blood purity and stuff like that –members of each family would have to be wed after the due date has passed; that would be a general contract. With me so far?"

"Families write contracts saying people have to marry. It's about a couple that is either already specified or still unknown," Harry summarized. "And they have to marry each other."

"Well, should a general contract be activated, those two who fit the requirements best will either have to marry or buy out, which is to say, pay a bit of gold to cancel the contract before a certain date –the due date I mentioned. And it's not even certain a contract has to be fulfilled; the conditions in the contract can be ridiculous, you see? A son born on the twenty-ninth of February and the light of a new moon, or the couple has to be born exactly fourteen days apart –stuff like that; as long as it's still possible, it can be put in the contract as a requirement. And most families preferred to buy out in the past, should a contract threaten to take effect, so general contracts were something of a moot point anyway, for the most part."

"Alright," Harry said. "So if two people meet the requirements, then that contract can be dissolved by buying out, or fulfilled by marrying. Got it. That's idiotic, but not unusual for purebloods. So now that I know what you are talking about, what's that got to do with me?"

"Ouch. Well, as long as the contract isn't activated, either family can buy out and dissolve the contract in its entirety, even if there is no one in the other family the contract applies to. Anyway, it just so happens that you are one of at least two candidates for a contract for the Blacks."

"You said something about Ranks," Harry recalled, slowly understanding what his friend was talking about.

"Yes, exactly. Well, these contracts, they were set up by purebloods. Which means they assign ranks according to one's relation to the family in question. In your case, your grandmother was a Black –Dorea, to be precise –married to Charlus Potter. Which would make you the grandchild of a Black, a Third Rank under normal circumstances, and unsuitable for the contract. A child of a Black would be a Second Rank if a suitable member of the Blacks existed, which would be a First Rank." Neville made a pregnant pause. "However, right now, you are considered a Second Rank, likely because a previous Head of House acknowledged your relation to the family. Think of it as that Head saying, 'That Harry Potter, that is one fine boy and paragon of the Blacks.' There is one other Second Rank around, Malfoy, and since no Black is around to be a First Rank, the Second Rank with the best claim at the moment is elevated to First Rank. That's Malfoy right now."

"I didn't know my grandmother was a Black. Didn't notice her on the tapestry," Harry spoke or to himself than Neville, thinking about what he had been told. "Malfoy, then. He's a son of a Black –Narcissa; I saw him on the tapestry, yes. So he's a First Rank?"

"Only since there is no suitable, living Black," Neville reminded Harry, nodding. "Should everything continue as it is, he would either have to marry according to the contract or buy out."

Harry snorted. "Okay, that's kind of funny. Can you imagine Malfoy marrying? Or rather, marrying Greengrass, what with him being with Parkinson? Does Malfoy know already?"

Neville rolled his eyes. "Yes. People of First and Second Rank get informed yearly and exactly a hundred and forty-four days before their birthday. They might have to fulfil the contract, after all, so..."

"Why a hundred and..."

"Forty-four days, Harry. Twelve Goblins and twelve humans of their negotiation commitees were present and still alive when the treaty was signed that gave the goblins the authority in this matter. Now back to topic or we'll never finish; yes, he knows, and has for all his life. He might have to marry according to the contract, yes, unless the contract is dissolved before the due date, which in this case is the day the younger of the contracted parties becomes a fully recognized member of the family –usually the seventeenth birthday."

"Well, fine, but what's that got to do with me? It's Malfoy and Greengrass, neither of whom is someone I'd call a friend. And anyway, what could I do?" Harry grumbled half-heartedly. "Just once, I'd like to watch from the side-lines, Neville, and not be part of the action. Then I could send Greengrass my condolences and be done with it." Harry chuckled a bit at that thought. "Do you think they sell cards for that? 'Sorry you had to marry the idiot?'" He shook his head. "Right, so... that's what Bulstrode wanted? To tell you... me about this contract with Greengrass because she couldn't get in contact with me?"

Neville bit his lip. "Well, should Malfoy die before the due date, or is bitten by a werewolf or something like that, then he won't be eligible anymore, and then you might have to step in. And Greengrass too has known all her life, but had expected the Malfoys to buy out. A reasonable assumption -that is what practically every family does -but they've fallen on hard times with Draco's father imprisoned and their accounts frozen. That's a problem, you see, because the Malfoys would need have to be worth as much -it's a sacrifice here and now, not ten years in the future or from someone else, so borrowing the money is out. Greengrass fears they might decide to go through with it to get their hands on some of her gold, either through marriage or by having her dissolve the contract. That might be why the Malfoys are stalling right now. That's why Greengrass is interested in meeting you, the new player, and one who might be useful to her. Since you might have to fulfil the contract, you can dissolve it on behalf of the Blacks. I think that's what Greengrass is aiming for –you buying out. That would free her and she would earn a bit of gold. Well, she wants to talk to you about it and suggested Gringotts, but she wants to keep it secret for the time being, especially from the Malfoys. If her fears are correct, they might try to intervene otherwise."

"Well, I think I get it now. Unless something happens to Malfoy, I'm good, but I can still do something for Greengrass," Harry summed up. "And these contracts, am I right in assuming they are magically binding?" he asked, following a shrewd feeling.

Neville nodded. "Yes, they are."

"Of course they are," Harry sighed, scratching his head. "Of course purebloods would use magically binding contracts. Why not... why not simply trust the other side to keep their word?"

"Promises can be broken?" Neville offered half-heartedly. "But there is something bothering me –your rank. If you were simply the grandson of a Black, you would be a Third Rank and out of trouble. Even in the worst case, with Malfoy dying, you would still be a Third Rank and improper for the purposes of the contract. With the recognition by a previous Head of the House, you are a Second Rank now, which is rare, but not unheard of. It might spawn questions, though. But the letter Greengrass received indicated you could somehow trump Malfoy's claim; it mentioned a _potential_ candidate of Second Rank, and that doesn't make any sense; you are younger than he is, and you aren't a Black by birth. Unless something happens to Malfoy, he should be the only potential candidate." Neville started pacing. "You inherited a lot from the Blacks, you said?"

Harry nodded. "Dumbledore said so when he brought me here, yes, but I don't know what I got exactly, yet; he only said Sirius left me everything he owned. What does it matter?"

"When he...? Never mind." Frowning, Neville walked a bit further, Harry following him. "Well, if Mr. Black had left you a lot or even everything he owned... that'd be enough recognition to elevate you to Second Rank alright, but nothing more. Why would you be a potential...?" With a jolt, Neville whirled around. "Mr. Black was the Head of House, and the title passed to you! Of course, he was the last of the Blacks, and he passed the title to you."

Confusion spread across Harry's face. He had talked about his family with Sirius, but never had they spoken about that. "Sirius never mentioned... well, stuff like that."

Neville chuckled for a while, shaking his head. "Oh, but he was! Yes, that would make sense. Hah! Oh, what wouldn't I give to see Malfoys face when he realizes that."

"Care to explain?" Harry asked.

"Well, alright. By making you his heir, Mr. Black also passed the Headship to you. For the purposes of the contract, the Head of House is also an original member of the family, a Black in this case. Someone who is to lead the House is effectively the house. With you being underage, you cannot claim the title of Head of House and logically aren't a Black, yet –you are a Second Rank at the moment. Normally, the Headship would rest until you are of age –seventeen, that is."

"Yes, Dumbledore mentioned that too. Coming of age at seventeen, I mean."

"... Dumbledore mentioned that," Neville repeated disbelievingly. "One of the most influential wizards of our time told you about the coming of age. What, did he sit you down over a cup of tea?"

"Err," Harry said, "it was a glass of mead, actually."

"One day, I will make you tell me these stories," Neville sighed. "So you would gain the Headship on your birthday. The thing is, Malfoy is younger than Greengrass –he's born fifth of June –and the contract would take effect once both candidates are fully recognized members of the family – can sign contracts and things like that in its stead. But then, there is no current Head of House Black. As such, you can gain your Headship earlier, or rather, you can be the Acting Head of House for a short moment, for example to sign off on some business deal that cannot be postponed; nothing major, though, just a few Galleons. Gran mentioned it once, since... anyway." He shook his head. Harry guessed where the comment would have gone –Neville's parents. "It would mean nothing, really, but as long as you are Acting Head, you are a fully recognized member of the House, even if it is only a moment in time before you step down from the position with the deal signed. If you take on the Headship –become the Acting Head for a while –before June fifth, Malfoys birthday, you will be old enough and of First Rank for a time, and with a better claim than Malfoy who'll be demoted to Second Rank. If Greengrass is an adult at that time, the contract will have found a match –Greengrass and you, respectively –and you'll have to marry her. If you take up the Headship after the fifth, it'll be Draco who would have to deal with the contract. You can actively influence the outcome of the contract."

"... That's really idiotic," Harry pointed out. "Could it be any more complicated?"

"That's how purebloods work sometimes. It's all about sticking to the rules. But it isn't that complicated. There are five possible outcomes. Draco buys out, Greengrass does or, well, you. Well, the family buys out in the candidate's name since signing the settlement requires a fully recognized member of the family, but..." Neville shook his head. "Otherwise, if you become Acting Head of House before June fifth..."

"I'd be me who'd have to marry Greengrass, otherwise Draco has to?"

"No. If you claim the headship before Malfoy's birthday, but after Greengrass', only then would you have to marry her. If you only do something before she comes of age or after he does, nothing changes and Malfoy has to marry her. See? Not complicated, just highly unusual."

"This is so weird to think about," Harry sighed. "I'll have a headache tomorrow. Are purebloods always so..."

Neville shrugged. "Not normally, no. This is just a highly unusual situation with you inheriting the title without being of age and a marriage contract waiting for its activation on the day both are fully recognized members of their families. That's two separate issues muddled together –without the inheritance, you wouldn't have that influence on the outcome, perhaps even be a Third Rank; without the contract, you would have just gained the title of Head of House on your birthday. With both combined and another candidate currently having a better claim, you get such weird results."

Harry shook his head. "You know, these traditions stink. Fine, I'll talk with Greengrass, but you're coming with me. There's no chance I'd find my way through this muddle otherwise. Fine, let's see what Mrs. Weasley has to say about it."

"You want to tell her?" Neville raised his eyebrows.

"Well... in a way, yes." Harry's eyes moved to the Burrow as he walked along the edges of the pond. "Why didn't you want to talk about it in front of the others, by the way? Wouldn't they have known what this was about?"

Neville sighed. "Well, nothing against them, of course. But... it's a private business between Greengrass and you. I can't simply decide with whom to share it, and Greengrass wants to keep it quiet so the Malfoys don't know what is going on. Also, as much as I... Well, think about Hermione. She wouldn't let me leave until she has learned everything about it. With purebloods, one things leads to another, and unless I'd have escaped her somehow, she would have kept me here for days. Gran waits for me at home. And knowing Hermione's stance on house-elves, do you think she'd have been delighted to hear about it?"

Harry had reached the kitchen door and entered. Hermione was cutting carrots, Ginny set the table and Ron, from the sound of it, was still washing his hands. Typical.

"Err, Mrs. Weasley? I was wondering whether I could go to Gringotts in the next few days? I have a small business matter to take care of there." He felt slightly bad about the lie, but it wasn't his secret to share. Besides, he knew he wouldn't be allowed to go if he told the Weasleys just what he wanted to do, of that he was sure. Following a sudden inspiration, Harry added, "For example, Friday? While the rest of you buy the books? We'd be in Diagon Alley anyway, and all I'd have to do would be go in."

The woman stared at him for a long time before answering. "Well, I don't know. We already have your gold, you know? Bill was kind enough to get; you don't need to go there..."

"It isn't about gold. I... there are some formalities pertaining Sirius' inheritance. I really think I should take care of that, and Neville already offered to organize a room, so there's that." The boy in question squeaked, but Harry continued as if he hadn't heard anything. "Most of the stuff we have to buy is books, supplies, and robes; you don't need my input for the first two, and the second can be dealt with first."

Maybe it came from years of having to look after the twins, but Mrs. Weasley threw him a suspicious glance. Harry gave his best to not look guilty telling himself he hadn't done anything wrong. Not your secret, he repeated in his head, but it didn't sound completely sincere.

Finally, Mrs. Weasley relented. With a shrug, she added, "Well, I'll have Bill escort you to us as soon as you are finished. That is not negotiable, Harry. We have to think of your safety; Sirius wouldn't have wanted for you to walk into a trap just because he left you unfinished business."

* * *

The days had passed faster than Harry would have liked. He had managed to evade both the Weasleys' and, more astonishing, Hermione's questions, but mostly by focusing their attention on the homework assignments. It had the unwelcome side effect that he hadn't had the opportunity to read in Smith's book much. So far he had only gotten an overview of an approach to Occlumency that centred around redirecting the intrusion. It would work, but mostly for people with highly structured minds, but low creativity. That combination led to bland uniform memories that were easy to switch. Harry doubted it would work properly for him.

Finally, Friday came, and it brought a cold morning and a clear sky. It was very difficult to escape Hermione's curiosity so close to the visit to Gringotts, especially after he had received Neville's letter to inform him of the time of the meeting the day before. Ron had never been a morning person, and had been really grumpy the previous evening when the change of plans had been announced –due to Harry's excursion to the wizarding bank, their visit had been rescheduled to begin as soon as the stores opened. Ginny had taken it better than her brother, but mainly because she hoped to wheedle a few additional minutes in Diagon Alley out of Mrs. Weasley. Harry had wished Ginny luck, and both had gone their separate ways –Ginny to talk to Hermione and Harry to sneak into the kitchen for a late meal. Hermione however had been very interested in Harry's business ever since Neville's visit and had tried to charm it out of her best friend; since he knew her well enough to recognize the signs, he had managed to keep his secret. Until now. Breakfast was in full swing, and Hermione was busy securing some food for herself, but her eyes repeatedly shifted to Harry. He knew her mind was racing, trying to find the angle that would grant her the answers she sought.

At half past nine, Mrs. Weasley rose. "Alright. Half an hour. Ginny, would you help me clean up? Ron, I've seen that! Hermione, do you have your list? Arthur, could you please... thank you. Harry, I've laid out one of Arthur's robes for you. If you are doing business with the goblins, you might as well look like it."

"Ah, thanks, Mrs. Weasley." Reading Hermione's expression, he quickly slipped up the stairs. Trust Mrs. Weasley to give her such a good lead-in. Still, when he saw the robe she meant for him, he decided to forgive her. It was obviously one of the best pieces they owned, a very fine fabric shimmering slightly in the light. He would have to find a way to repay the favour in some way. He slipped it on. It fit better than he would have expected. This wasn't Mr. Weasley's robe anymore; his wife had altered it, no doubt. Harry really needed to repay the favour.

"Looks good," Hermione commented. He hadn't heard her stepping up to the door. Cornered like the prey he felt he he was.

"Thanks, I do try to stay in shape."

"Well, don't. You could use a few more pounds," she countered.

"Potters always stay thin. Sirius said so." Crap. Why did he have to give her openers as well? "Lupin too. I'm not sure, but I think Pomfrey scolds me for it every time I see her, right before adding that Dad was the same."

"Right. Sirius would have said something like that," she spoke in what seemed like an innocent voice. "We haven't had time to really talk the last few days. Strange, you know, considering we're stuck here all day."

"Homework, it had to be done. I didn't hear you complaining," Harry tried.

"Which was downright bizarre to see you proposing to do homework. I know you had a lot finished already before we began."

"You weren't complaining," he repeated.

"Only because it meant getting Ron to work. Merlin knows without you there, he'd have tried to sneak off. Boys, honestly."

"Now, that's sexist, and you know it," Harry chuckled.

"I can live with it. But anyway, it still meant not talking to you as much as I would have liked. I never got to ask you what you were discussing with Neville. He seemed to have a lot of surprises for you for simple inheritance issues and 'painfully boring nonsense', as Neville put it."

"You watched us? Curiosity killed the cat, Hermione. Well, that's what it is, though, boring nonsense. My inheritance brought up some issues I want to look at. Contracts, obligations, that kind of stuff. It doesn't look like I have to do something, but I think it's something I should take a look at –better be safe than sorry. To get an overview of the situation. Neville arranged the meeting because with... you know... well, he would know about it." He felt bad about his misdirection. He hadn't lied, technically. His inheritance had brought up the issue. It was about a contract, but one Hermione would be equally unfamiliar with. And Neville knew about them due to him being a pureblood.

"Well, yes, but shouldn't you take someone with you? Bill? Or perhaps the Headmaster. In case something does come up?"

"Ah, don't worry. In a year, I will have to decide things like that all by myself anyway; I'll have to stand on my own two feet."

Hermione frowned. "And you think you are prepared for it? And anyway, Neville did look far too tense for some small matter. Ron may not have noticed it, and Mrs. Weasley trusts you too much to question you as much as she should. But I don't have these problems or reservations. There is something you're not telling me, I know it. I can read you. So what is up?"

Caught. Harry considered his options. He couldn't tell her about the contract. First of all, he wasn't sure whether it was his secret to share similar to how he didn't tell her about the guy talk in the dorm. And second of all, with her position in regards to wizarding traditions, she'd be very irritated over something neither could change. She might even insist on joining him or might make pointed statements around the house, something he couldn't allow if he wanted to avoid suspicion. But he could tell her something. "Well, alright. I'll tell you a bit about it, but, Hermione, you have to keep quiet. No talking to the Weasleys or Dumbledore."

"I don't... Harry, if it is that serious, you really should..."

"No. It isn't really... look, Sirius made me his heir. Left me everything he had, basically. Neville pointed out that since Sirius had been Head of House, the title would have passed to me as well; I will automatically become the Head of House Black when I turn seventeen. But then, since there are no Blacks left apart from those who married into other houses, I may be allowed to do something before then. There is something called Acting Head of House for small business matters that can't be postponed. As to why I don't want Dumbledore or the Weasleys poking in... It is my family, or it will be, one day. It is something personal. Sirius left it to me, not Dumbledore or the Weasleys. It is mine and my decision." Again, sidestepping the truth, he managed a halfway convincing smile. "I want to know what I can do, and I don't want someone breathing over my shoulder."

"I... alright. I won't tell," she told him with a sad smile.

* * *

"You okay, Harry?"

"Yeah, Neville. Thanks for being here, I don't think I could deal with this without someone at my side who knows what is going on." He pulled the collar of his shirt.

"Can't let you walk in there alone or Gran would have my hide."

Harry made a noncommittal sound, glancing around the room.

"Ah, almost forgot," Neville spoke up. "I asked Gran about it, about becoming the Acting Head of House. I made it sound like a follow-up on her thoughts."

"Right, good idea. And?"

"Well, it's like I told you. You can be Acting Head of House. For example, if you have to sign some documents for the family. It doesn't really have all that much power to it, but you could still become Acting Head. Once the deal is done, you'd automatically resign. Well, that's why you are a potential candidate, though. Not something you should mention, of course, but at least we know the reason now."

"So I could become Acting Head for occasions like signing the buy-out agreement," Harry said, cottoning on. "Makes sense."

Neville blinked. "No, everything but that one. To sign it, you'd have to be the Acting Head; once you are, the contract considers you as the one to fulfil it for the Blacks –you couldn't step down, and the settlement would be void. You'd automatically resign as Acting Head and would be a Second Rank once more. Now that I think about it, I'm not even sure you could sign the settlement as Acting Head of House. There isn't a lot of power to the position."

Harry was about to comment, but was interrupted when the door opened. In walked a dour goblin, a ledger under his arm. Two girls followed him. Bulstrode looked exactly like Harry remembered her. Still every bit as broad-shouldered and reminding him of a troll, she had opted for simple robes of black to hide her bulky body. She hadn't succeeded. Her companion was also easily recognisable, even if he hadn't paid her a lot of attention in school. She had chosen rather more revealing clothes than Harry had expected, but he didn't mind. To each their own, he guessed; it was summer, after all, and he could imagine Greengrass preferring lighter clothes in the heat. And she did have a form to fit it to. Her brown hair framing her face rather more than he'd seen in school seemed slightly curly at the tips. Being home had also given her a bit of a tan, and he did notice the rich blue colour of her eyes.

"Well then," the goblin began. "I am Grobuk. House Black is present." He nodded at Harry. "House Greengrass is present." He inclined his head in the girls' direction. "The topic is the marriage contract between Phineas Nigellus Black and Alphonse Greengrass, signed 18th of November 1891."

"Great, him," Harry sighed. "Phineas Nigellus. Knew he'd have something to do with it."

"Yes. As is custom, since House Greengrass requested the negotiation, they may begin." The goblin sat down and, after pulling it out from his ledger, threw a piece of parchment on the table.

Greengrass blinked. "Ah, yes. Good to see you, Potter. Nice of you to agree to this meeting, and I hope we will find a satisfactory solution for all involved. You know Bulstrode, of course; she helped me set up this meeting."

"Yes, I know her. You really left an impression last school year, Bulstrode," Harry replied, still slightly sore about the large girl joining the Inquisitorial Squad, and he was pleased to see a faint blush on the girl's face. Feeling Neville give him a slight nudge, he added, "And you are familiar with Neville, of course, since you got him involved. Since I trust him, I asked him to join us."

Greengrass nodded slightly, sitting down in her chair. "Well, Longbottom explained the situation to you, I hope?"

"He did," Harry told her, watching her closely for signs of deception. "You are contractually obliged to marry someone from House Black unless someone pays to have the contract dissolved. You want to find out whether I'd do you the favour. The other from House Black is Draco Malfoy, and you suspect he might either not be willing or capable of helping you there. You suspect it's the former."

She frowned and shifted slightly in her chair. "Straight to the point, that is what I'm facing and also why I asked to meet you, yes, but neither the only reason for the meeting nor the only option I have left. I'm only checking whether we can work something out. I have to say, though, I was rather surprised when your name came up while I was searching for the mysterious candidate of Second Rank. I wasn't aware of any connection you had with House Black. I'm guessing you were recognized only recently as part of that family?"

Shrugging slightly, Harry nodded, but Neville answered for him. "It was only recently, yes, and without you pointing us towards it, he might not have known for a while still."

"I also didn't know about contracts, much less of this one," Harry added.

"I guessed as much," Greengrass admitted, "especially since it doesn't affect the Potters. It is rare for someone to be elevated to a higher Rank, and even rarer so close to the due date. If you have a question, feel free to ask. I'd be happy to help you." She shifted slightly.

"Well, I do have a question. Why should I get involved?" Harry spoke up. "The way I see it, the best course of action for me would be to stay as far away from this mess as I can. There is only a small risk the contract will ever matter to me, and I do have a window of at least a month after Malfoy's birthday to get a settlement in place should Malfoy be unsuitable for one reason or another. And there also doesn't seem to be any hurry to deal with it; you still have ten months left. Not to be overly rude, but the contract is your problem; I have my own. No need for me to trouble myself with it, at least not now. In the worst case, I'd still have over a month after Malfoy's birthday to come up with something."

She sent him a mysterious smile. "Well, I have a plan that might catch your attention... a plan that we might both like." She leaned forward, her robes falling loose around her.

Harry didn't have to look. Dean had occasionally voiced his envy of Harry's peripheral vision, and it did have its perks. But then, he had played Quidditch over three years with three girls, all of whom were less than overly prudish while changing into their robes. Had she expected him to fall over himself because a bit of skin? Admittedly, it was nice skin, but he wouldn't fall for that so easily; he did have other things on his mind, the looming war being the top priority. Instead, he gestured for her to continue, and added, "Go on, then. What is your plan?"

She blinked, but caught herself quickly. "Well, I have known all my life about the contract. Many families have one or two unresolved arrangements. Almost all opt to dissolve it. I had expected the Malfoys to buy out since I know they had plans for the future as well, but recent... developments may have put these plans in jeopardy. You see, the sum depends on the families affected, and since both the Greengrasses and the Blacks had been wealthy at the time of the signing –and with Mr. Lucius Malfoy, their Head of House, unfortunately imprisoned –they might decide to go through with it, or more likely, expect the Greengrasses to buy out, earning the Malfoys a decent amount of gold. Currently, they are stalling."

"It is still not my problem," Harry pointed out. "If they can't do it, why not offer to buy out? If the Malfoys want it, what is the problem with that?"

"Well, House Greengrass doesn't have the funds available on such a short notice, unfortunately. It was almost guaranteed the Malfoys would buy out, after all, and all of our funds are tied up at the moment." Greengrass raised an eyebrow, and her smile grew. "However, you could make it your problem. Since you are eligible to fulfil the contract, you could offer to buy out to save yourself from the risk, no matter how small it may seem. If you do dissolve it, you ensure your... well, freedom, in case something stopped Malfoy from respecting his obligations. That is my plan. You buy out. Malfoy won't have a chance to disagree, House Greengrass will be happy..."

"... And get a bit of gold, I assume?" Harry interrupted.

"Well, indeed, but then, there is no reason there can't be a second business arrangement on the side, which is another reason for you to help me with this matter. We could have House Greengrass give House Black a security of considerable worth, for example," she tried. "Perhaps an heirloom."

"I have more than enough trinkets to last a lifetime," Harry pointed out. Well, to last his lifetime, but they didn't need to know that.

"Or we could write a contract to make House Greengrass to pay a certain amount of gold should I ever marry someone –for example, the settlement price with interest. Or to have to pay should I celebrate my twenty-fifth birthday. That would give my family enough time to get the money, including the interest."

Harry perked up. "Ah. So if I buy out today, you'd pay me back tomorrow. A loan, basically, even if it isn't written as such." He felt the pieces fall into place. He didn't really care about the money, but she did have a point. As long as the terms were reasonable, he could secure House Black a nice future income with little risk. Whether he could use the gold or not, he could still pass it on to his heirs.

"Well, that was the idea, yes," Greengrass confirmed, apparently glad he hadn't been more hostile. "I do believe it is a good idea for both of us, and the eight years are also enough time to avoid any rumours about an underhanded deal of sorts. No one even needs to know about the 'loan', as you called it." Greengrass smiled softly. "We both would get the looming contract out of our way. In the short run, House Greengrass would gain a bit of gold, in the long run, it would repay the debt. I get my freedom, you get gold."

Neville coughed, drawing attention to him. "And just who would have to pay that loan back?"

Harry stared at him. His friend had raised a good point, Harry realized, as he thought about it. Better safe than sorry, so to speak, and even more so since he was dealing with a Slytherin. If he wanted the gold, he needed to make sure she had no loopholes to abuse.

Greengrass rolled her eyes. "House Black and House Greengrass, of course. We could disguise it as a bet I will lose without a doubt. That way, I would have to pay my debt, and no one needs to know just why. I can cite humiliation or something equally flimsy if necessary, or come up with a reasonable excuse. It's not like I won't have time to think of something. With that done, it is a simple enough matter –we set up the necessary parchment to dissolve this marriage contract, we both get someone from our families to sign the papers for the Houses and then..."

"Wait," Harry interrupted. "Why have someone else sign it?"

It was funny, in a weird way, to see both Bulstrode and Greengrass blink so rapidly, trying to grasp his question. In the end, it was Neville who leaned over and whispered to Harry: "Neither of you can; I explained that earlier, remember? It has to be done by fully recognized members of the family. If you wait for your birthday, the contract will already be active with Malfoy. If you, Harry, try to sign the dissolving agreement as Acting Head of House Black before Malfoy's birthday... well, the first thing, before anything else, would be this contract, and once it's active, you can't dissolve it, voiding the settlement you wanted to sign in the first place. Without anything to keep you as such, you'd resign as Acting Head, but the settlement would still be void. And that's assuming you could sign it as Acting Head, which I'm not so sure about."

"Longbottom has filled you in?" Greengrass asked with a frown that he didn't like. True, he had made a few mistakes as far as he could tell, but he still thought he had done well, especially considering he had had no idea of any of these procedures a week ago. Did she expect him to be born with this knowledge?

... Well, perhaps, since she had probably been taught these things from her childhood. Was that why purebloods looked down on Muggleborns? Because they didn't act according to etiquettes they had no idea existed? Shouldn't it be the job of... someone, really, to teach these rules to them? That sounded like a good idea for Hogwarts. He'd have to remember that thought for his next talk with Dumbledore.

Was it odd to consider a talk with one of the most influential wizard of the time as normalcy?

Harry nodded, returning to the present meeting. "He did, yes. So you want me to dissolve and get an adult to sign the settlement for me. In return, you would pay me back sometime in the future –or rather, House Greengrass would." A good plan, or in theory, at least.

Greengrass smiled. A nice smile, in Harry's opinion, but then, it was probably the first time in a while that she had a reason to. "That is what I had in mind," she replied, "yes. You do see the benefit of it, don't you? The way I see it, we both get something we want. You dissolve the contract; in return, you will secure a sizable amount of gold for House Black at a future date. I pay you back with interest and get my freedom. It is a deal, nothing more."

Harry peered at her over his glasses. She seemed genuine, and even though Hermione had called him out on his tendency to help people, he would have liked to go along with the plan, partly to see how much he could get out of it. She needed him more than the other way around. But it wasn't to be. "I don't think it'll work. I'm sorry I can't help you there." He rose to his feet. "I wish you luck, Miss Greengrass. You still have time to come up with a solution, after all. We will see each other at Hogwarts in a few weeks, I guess?"

Blinking, she jumped up. "No need to rush your decision, Potter. And I can assure you we will find a solution; after all, I only made the suggestion with that loan, as you called it. I'm sure we can find something else; there has to be something you want. How about that? Since you'd do me a favour, I could do the same. You help me and I help you."

He heard the urgency in her voice. Well, he couldn't fault her. Having to marry Malfoy... He too would try everything he could to get out of it. "I don't rush my decision. I was merely stating a fact. The settlement has to be signed by a relative? Probably with ties to the Blacks?"

Beside him, Neville hummed. He had understood Harry's train of thought, but it left Harry wondering why no one else had thought of that. Greengrass and Bulstrode might not know it, but Neville at least should have realized Harry would not get one of the remaining Blacks to sign the settlement, not after Harry had helped send Lucius Malfoy to Azkaban in June.

Greengrass nodded curtly. "Yes, with ties to House Black. I don't see the problem, though."

"Well," Harry continued. "Of the Blacks, only Narcissa and Bellatrix remain. Their other sister who I've forgotten the name of has been cast out of the family, and I doubt she would be acceptable as a representative for House Black."

Neville shook his head slowly. "Very unlikely. She was disowned, right? If so, then she can't act for the Blacks. It would make the settlement easily disputable. And if there is one thing purebloods like, it's getting their peers in trouble without any risk to themselves. No, the third Black sister won't work."

Harry continued. "That leaves either Narcissa Malfoy or Bellatrix Lestrange. I seriously doubt that I can convince either one to do me a favour. The latter is not only an escaped prisoner, but also loyal to a man who thinks I'm his mortal enemy. Bellatrix is also unhinged and will likely hate me as well after we met at the Ministry –she doesn't like to lose, I think. Narcissa Malfoy on the other hand doesn't really like me to begin with, and after last June, she'll be even less willing to do me any favour. If they want you to buy out, they won't help me with the contract. And even if they don't, they're working for Voldemort," Harry ignored the shivers from the girls, "and handing me over would be far more profitable than getting Draco's feeedom. Either way, talking to Narcissa Malfoy is an enormous risk, especially since you still have some time left before it gets pressing.

"And lastly, I have no relatives who could be coerced into signing anything for anyone under any circumstance short of threatening them with death, and that's ignoring they are no Blacks. In essence, since I have no one who could sign for me, so any talk would be useless. Or am I wrong?"

Beside him, Neville shook his head. "You aren't. You can't sign, and if no one can do it for House Black... No, Harry, you are right. I'm sorry I didn't think of it before."

Harry waved it off. "Ah, don't sweat it."

Grobuk jumped up. "Are you finished then with this exercise in futility?"

Harry didn't pay him any mind. Goblins were goblins, simple as that, and part of their culture seemed to be their bad-tempered personality. Instead, he searched Greengrass' eyes. He felt like he should say something to her, like it was the right thing to not just leave her without a few parting words. It wasn't her fault they couldn't go through with the plan, and he did want to help her, but he also couldn't see anything that might solve the problem. "I am truly sorry. Maybe you can convince the Malfoys to do it. Should work, right?"

She laughed humorously and rolled her eyes. "If they had the money, they would buy out, remember?"

He hadn't until she had said it. Great, she was really in trouble, and he had all the reasons to feel a bit guilty, even if he knew logically that is also wasn't his fault he had no relatives he was on speaking terms with; and he was only partly to blame for the simple fact that all of the surviving Blacks hated him. Harry hadn't made Lucius Malfoy a criminal, and Bellatrix couldn't solely blame him for the defeat that night, could she?

Well, she probably did anyway. Didn't he have enough maniacs out for his blood already?

Nodding to Greengrass, he sent her a small smile. "Well, you still have about ten months left. That should be enough time for you to see whether the Malfoys can't pay or don't want to. If it's the former..." He left the sentence hanging. "I'm not making any promises. I'm truly sorry I can't help you right now. Perhaps one of your other options works out for you."

She nodded slowly.

* * *

**Well, that's that. Hary was finally informed about the contract, has a decent idea about where to go with Occlumency, had time to talk with Neville, and met Greengrass, even if he couldn't help her in the end.**

**.**

**Since it was asked what the Malfoys might want, there are a number of ways it could play out:**

**The Greengrasses can somehow get enough money to buy out (has to happen before Daphne's birthday, the 19th of December) -Malfoy gets money.**  
**The Greengrasses can somehow get the money, but don't buy out, but the Malfoys can -Malfoy has enough time to act and buy out himself (until the 5th of June, Draco's birthday)**  
**The Greengrasses cannot get the money, but the Malfoys can and don't want to - wedding bells with Draco getting access to whatever the Greengrasses might have in terms of wealth in the future. And keep in mind, just because there is no better match for Draco at the moment does not mean one might show up later. there might not be divorces, but there are widowers.**  
**Neither the Greengrasses nor the Malfoys can get the money to buy out -wedding bells, although neither might fancy the other.**

**If the Malfoys want either the Greengrasses to buy out or the contract to activate with Draco (both would earn them money, either a large sum at once or a constant income of whatever Draco can redirect), then Harry has very little chance of getting them to dissolve for him. If the Malfoys want out of the contract, but can't, it would still be a question of either helping Harry or handing him over to Voldemort; that would be very rewarding in itself. The Malfoys also have over six months to come up with the gold after Daphne's birthday, and that's assuming they really don't have it at the moment. Daphne _heard_ they're poor, how much they have stashed in their house or might get by selling trinkets and heirlooms Daphne might not know.**

**Also keep in mind the Greengrasses might not have a lot of gold in their vault at the moment, but they also have Daphne's father, who apparently causes considerable property damage on a regular basis, thus creating a money sink. Remove the father from the equation -keep him busy elsewhere with a job, say -and they might actually be worth something sometime.**

**.**

**Changed the talk at Gringotts to include an explanation as to why Harry doesn't simply reinstate Andromeda -lack of power of the position as Acting Head -as well as the possibility for Harry to revisit the topic should all else fail for Daphne. I also changed the phrasing slightly to make it less stuffy and added another reason for Harry not to talk to the Malfoys -they work for Voldemort, handing Harry over is far more rewarding than getting Draco out of a contract. Lastly, I stressed the point that the threat is not actually imminent right now. Until Draco's birthday, Daphne can still try to get the Malfoys to dissolve the contract.**

**Also added an explanation of the possible ways the Malfoys might want to use the contract.**

**Included a patch in Neville's explanation of contracts as to why Harry doesn't simply lend the Greengrasses the money -it's a sacrifice. The family needs to be worth as much, and since promises are cheap, the gold needs to come out of the family's vaults, not borrowed from others. If the Malfoys have to pay 25,000 Galleons, they'll need to have 25,000 Galleons, not the promise of 25,000 Galleons once they get their spoils of war or some other time in the future.**


	5. Business as Usual

Posted 11/11/2013

**.**

**Thanks for the reviews.**

**Some people commented on bumps in the theory and practice around the contract.**

**Urazz, I'm not so sure whether the events of HBP would actually make Malfoy unsuitable. As far as I know, he was not bitten by a werwolf or Vampire or became a half-breed by other means. To my knowledge, he didn't die. Whether being a criminal and potential murderer might make him unsuitable would depend on the contract itself. I have a feeling getting caught would be more problematic. I guess you'll have to see what I have in mind and decide afterwards.**

**purple sky always, I'm not sure about that. While he might not lose something by not helping, he might still gain something. She'd owe him a favour, at least. There might be something she could do for him -she could spy for him, for example, especially if their deal is kept secret. Whether he can trust her or not is of course a slight problem, but if he could dissolve the contract, there'd be little risk for him, yet a chance to gain something.**

**smokeapound and SeriousScribble, the whole idea of payments is to replace a sacrifice of blood or children of the family. You don't borrow the sacrifice, you don't delay it -you just pay it. With the setup Daphne proposed, Harry would pay with gold he supposedly has, and at the specified moment in time; he'd just get it back through others means. He could have also arranged to have Daphne buy his favourite quill for a ridiculous price. Concerning Hermione, I consider her a victim of positive discrimination (a girl can't do wrong, especially not _the_ girl) and the lack of a decent resolution for her character flaws. Coupled with her tumorous character grow, it is problematic and -to me -sad.**

**apAidan, to you I'd say, not the way I'd imagine it -Acting Head is supposed to be a position with very little actual authority over the big issues, keep in mind, Harry could technically claim Acting Head for the Potters since Halloween 1981. Small things. Reinstating or disinheriting someone is kind of a big issue.**

**Gufetto, to address your point, I gave Harry a stronger reason to keep away from her for the time being. Assuming she is working for Voldemort, she'd have more to gain by handing Harry over as soon as she gets the chance, even before the contract is signed. Afterwards, the Malfoys would probably rise both in power and wealth again, thanks to Voldemort and their share of the spoils of war. And that's assuming they want out and not wait for the Greengrasses to pay one way or the other.**

**.**

**This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.**

* * *

**Chapter Five – Business as Usual**

.

The moment they entered the twins' store, Mrs. Weasley began fussing over Harry. After making sure that he had indeed still all of his limbs as well as clear eyes, just to make sure nobody had altered his mind, she thanked Bill.

"Ah, don't worry about it too much. But I really should be going, the goblins don't like it when their human employees take unannounced breaks, and with me running duties for, well, you lot, they are already on my case. So, Mum, have fun with these rascals." He turned to his brothers. "See you soon, I think. Ron, don't give our parents or Hermione too much grief," ignoring the following protests from both, he turned to Harry, "and I hope you have finished your errands. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against helping you, but..."

"Yeah, I get it. See you."

With that, the eldest Weasley son left, and the family split. Mrs. Weasley tried to pry her husband from the Muggle joke items, Ron walked along the shelves with a longing look, tailed by one of the clerks. Hermione and Ginny strolled to a rather pinkish corner Harry had little interest in and was surprised to see his two friends heading to. He hadn't taken any of the girls to be the type. Then again, he mused, they needn't be. It was reasonable to assume a colour coding to be applied within the store. Since pink was considered a girly colour nowadays, using it as an indicator for products targeted at girls in general made sense.

"Like our shop?" Fred had stayed behind.

"It's brilliant. You have really outdone yourself. The business is going strong?"

The redhead grinned. "Better than we had ever imagined. And it's all thanks to you and your investment. Come on, I have to show you something. Let's... ah, Mum's busy, quick, in here!" And he shoved Harry through a curtain that tingled on the skin. Curious.

"Sorry about that, it's just... Mum and Dad, they think we sell joke items. We do, of course, and it is profitable, but the real money we make back here. Security products, see?" He grabbed a hat from the shelf. "Shield hats, for one. Won't help against anything serious, but they work, which is more than Dad can say about the crap he deals with on a daily basis. Peruvian Instant Darkness Power. Just a pinch in the air and all around you is pitch black. If you're ever in a pickle, it's good for an escape. Decoy Detonator. Funny story there, only, don't repeat it. See, it will walk into a corner and make a lot of noise. A decoy. But originally, we had thought about something more... effective, more stress on the detonation part, only, the legs couldn't carry the load, and charms don't mingle that well with the other enchantments. They collapsed, and detonated a bit too close. Might have taken a leg with it had we not jumped away. Well, now they're decoys, and that is also useful.

"What else? Let's see. Oh yeah!" He pulled something from the topmost shelf. "You won't see this one anywhere else. We're not even sure whether we really want to sell it to anyone, and it is not finished yet. It's a two-part system. This here," he pulled a greyish ball out of the box, "is what we call the Eye. You plant it in a room, a corner, for example. Once activated, it will react to movement in front of it. If there is some, it will cause this pin," he pointed to a small piece of metal in the box, "to hum. Granted, it is not much, but could at least work as a forewarning. Someone entering your house? Well, you'll know they're there. George had wanted to add defensive capabilities, you know, shooting poison or something like that, but what if someone you like just wants to surprise you? Or you walk into your own trap? No, better just a warning. Only, we don't want it going around, picked apart, because what good is an alarm if the enemy knows it exists?"

"Why show me all that?" Harry stared around the room in wonder.

"You helped us. You gave us the money and we owe you a lot. You deserve to know what we have accomplished, and if you ever need anything, you can ask us, and we will help you. And you know what? For as long as you live, you don't have to pay. Whatever you like, just take it."

"I... you know I can't do that, Fred..."

"Also, that too. You are one of the few who can tell us apart, and for that, you have earned that right. Or perhaps it's a bribe to make you keep the secret of how to do it; pick whichever explanation you prefer. Use your privilege or don't, but it is there for you. Now let's head out and let us be seen or Mum'll have Kneazles. You should have seen her worry when you were at Gringotts. What did she expect, an attack on the bank? Even the Death Eaters aren't that stupid."

As they walked out, Harry turned to his friend. "There's something I wanted to ask you... How does that paste you gave Hermione work? I just wondered because nothing your Mum tried seemed to work, and she does know about bruises, burns, and stuff. Has to, with you as her sons."

"Hah, love you too, Harry." Fred quickly looked around. "To be honest, it doesn't work. Or rather, it doesn't remove the bruise, just covers it up. See, we experimented a bit, wanted to offer products for the young witch as well. When we looked into cosmetics, we developed a couple of really nifty stuff, and one of the by-products is that paste. It doesn't vanish the bruise; instead, it changes the pigmentation of the area. That's why we told her to work from outside in: Once it touched the skin, it took on the desired colour and applied it to the affected area. It smears the colour over the affected area. The bruise is still there, she can't see, that's all."

"And you developed that stuff? Sounds tricky."

"It is, and then again, it's not. Look around, Harry, and ignore all the cheap stuff –the joke items like taste-changing sweets. What's left are some of the most complex pieces of magic anyone in the family has done in the last... two centuries? Something like that. Those Patented Daydream Charms? A nightmare to get working properly, and then, they sell... less than we had hoped. On the other hand, they work, which is a reward far better than Galleons could ever be. They're also decent advertisement." They had reached Hermione and Ginny, who were poring over a bowl of little flasks.

"Having fun, you two?"

Both whirled around. Hermione smiled obliquely. "You really do know more than you let on at Hogwarts, don't you? Some of the stuff is amazing, if I didn't know it any better, I wouldn't believe you were behind it. Those Daydream Charms? Brilliant. And these Youth Potions over there? They work, don't they? I assume some kind of Tightening Draught, mixed with a Bloating Potion?"

"Correct. Only, we don't really appreciate you blabbing about it, so..."

Hermione zipped her lips closed.

"Good. Didn't expect to find you at the Love Potions."

It took Harry a moment until he noticed the flasks next to them were, in fact, labelled as such. Why he hadn't seen it before he had no explanation. He raised an eyebrow. "Love Potions, Fred? You really have broadened your horizons."

"Well, they sell reasonably well, giggly girls get them generously." He shrugged. "We do have to think of our business, need the gold, and since girls are apparently more willing to pay for this stuff than fantasies... But since we are all here, sister of mine..."

As if summoned, George appeared. "... We don't sell these Potions to you."

"Not that you'd need it," Fred added.

George nodded. "Right you are."

Ginny raised her hand to interrupt them. "I can see where this is going, and I tell you the same I told Ron when he bothered me about it. Stay out of my business. Butt in and I will make you piss blood until your dying day. Get on my nerves and... well, let's just say, your girlfriends won't be very happy."

The twins exchanged a look before shrugging. Fred began. "We know. Still, you don't need Love Potions, if what we heard is true. Dean Thomas, little sister?"

"When we left, you were with Michael Corner."

"Not that we ever liked him much," Fred said.

"Tosser, he is," George grumbled. "Can't take a joke if it bit him..."

"Yes, he told me about that," Ginny interrupted. "Still not any of your business. I don't butt into yours..."

"You told me not to bother with Katie," George interrupted.

"And warned us not to look too closely at any girl," Fred supplied.

"I could be mistaken, but didn't you also yell at us for sharing a raunchy joke with Alicia?"

"One that she rather liked, if I remember correctly?" Fred added.

"So?" Ginny raised her eyebrow.

George pursed his lips. "How is that not butting into our business?"

"Because it is completely different. I did it because you were stupid and gross. The only reason you try to bother me about my life is because you feel the need to protect me from the dangers of the world, and I'm not a fragile doll."

Fred spoke up. "Back to topic. Dean Thomas? From Gryffindor? Ron and Harry's year mate?"

"Not. Your. Business." She turned and walked away. Hermione glared for a moment at the twins as was her duty as Ginny's female friend before following her.

Harry turned towards the twins. "Don't worry, Dean isn't bad."

Fred sighed. "We know. We spent over four years in the same house, have you forgotten? He came in here a few days ago..."

"... we grilled him," George added.

"... and we decided we like him well enough. But, Harry, he is a Gryffindor."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "So? I'm one, Ron's too. You were as well."

Both twins frowned. "Yes, and that's why we know how they think," Fred began. "Have you looked at the records of the past war? Have you looked at the life expectancy of Gryffindors?"

George took over. "They are extremely low. It's in our blood, maybe, to seek adventure and perils. We are attracted to mortal danger, even if we know it will kill us, and Dean is no exception."

Harry shrugged. "Well, obviously, he is dating Ginny."

Fred snorted, and George wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "You really are our brother. But our point is simple –Gryffindors are reckless by nature and looking for danger. Boys are, too. Combine the two, add in the war, and you get..."

Fred pursed his lips, and Harry finished for him. "... a high risk. But listen, she won't marry him tomorrow or anything, and Dean isn't the thrill seeker you make him out to be."

"He would have followed you to the Ministry. Half of Gryffindor would have, if you had only asked. If we had been there, we would have gladly joined you, even without knowing what was at stake. Storming the Ministry? Come on, that sounds like way too much fun. Storming the Ministry with a bunch of school children? Even better. You could have fielded an army of your own if you had only asked. Face it, Gryffindors aren't known for their survival instincts. Haven't you noticed how few teachers from our house we had? They die before they are old enough."

"So, what? You just wanted to look out for Ginny? Scare her away from a boy she likes because he could get her hurt? I don't know, that sounds like a bad plan, especially considering whom we're talking about. Tell her to stay away from the fire any she'll jump into a volcano. Tell her to aim for the centre of the body, and she'll curse you instead of her opponent."

"Ah, yes. Fun times, those were with the DA," George grinned. "But no. We wanted to tell her to use her head. Think. Be careful."

"Sounds hilariously hypocritical coming from you," Harry remarked. "And she doesn't like being told what to do, does she? If you want her to stay away from Dean, give her... I don't know... a dating guide or something."

Fred rolled his eyes. "Growing up, you learn to live with being a hypocrite. It's called gaining perspective." He cast his eyes around before nodding to his brother.

"But now that we have you here, and alone, away from prying ears and eyes... Please, be careful at school." He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "And if you need anything..."

"... don't hesitate to ask, because..." Fred added.

"... you are one of us, and we are your comrades."

"I get it. Thanks, guys," Harry interrupted them. "Let's see what the others are up to?"

* * *

It was strange how fast time had flown, Harry mused, as he pushed his trunk into the rack above his seat with the present from Luna safely stored away. It seemed like yesterday that he had been in Diagon Alley and he had joked how far away school was still, but in truth, it was already time for Hogwarts, and in a way, he looked forward to it. He looked forward to it more than he had the last years, in fact. For one, it would mean finally getting the lessons he would need for his battle with Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Dumbledore had promised lessons with him. Harry was tired of hearing about disappearances and deaths. Every time, it was a blow to their morale, and every time, it was someone working against the rising threat in the country. Sturgis Podmore had had a very close miss, and only inconceivable luck had saved him.

Learning how to fight his enemies more effectively was only one of the reasons Harry looked forward to school, though. It would mean returning to class, or more precisely, it would mean Hermione's return to class. Ever since she had gotten her books in Diagon Alley, she had convinced –read, forced –her friends to join her in her preparations for the upcoming year. Classes would keep her busy, or so Harry hoped, and stop her from forcing boring reviews on her unfortunate friends. Without having to read hours on end in his schoolbooks, Harry might also find the will to actually continue his Occlumency reading.

It had been a slow process, yet Harry was quite happy to have gotten a decent overview of the subject. He had been shocked when he had read the second possible approach to the art. During the summer, he had doubted Snape's method, suspected him to have actively hindered Harry's progress or have abused his position downright. Well, he had done the latter, as far as Harry was concerned. Taking that amount of pleasure from ripping unpleasant memories to the forefront shouldn't be allowed under any circumstances. Why had Dumbledore even assigned the Bat as his teacher? There had to be others who knew enough about the Mind Arts to at least give the introductory lessons?

To his astonishment, however, Harry had found Snape's method of Occlumency in the book. The Organized Mind as it was called was even described as a very good approach for most people. It was the fastest, in fact, as long as the student had talent for it. That was where the problems arose. The Organized Mind was a good approach, yes, but required an inclination towards logic and a strong control of one's emotion. The more unfeeling someone could be, the more effective the method was. The more one could compartmentalize their mind, the more appropriate the Organized Mind was for them. A strong will was very useful, which Harry had. On the other hand, for emotional or instinct-driven people, that approach was nigh impossible to master. Since their feelings were an important part of their being, isolating the emotions, locking them away took a lot more effort and could cripple their abilities. Apparently, Snape hadn't really put a lot of thought into his teaching method. Or maybe he didn't know any other way?

The book had proven to be a wealth of information, each paragraph offering more than Snape had ever given on the subject. Harry finally understood why and how the Organized Mind was supposed to work. He could see the reasons behind the instructions, which were actually far more detailed than emptying the mind or locking out the feelings. He understood the meditations Snape had demanded of him, but only because the book actually explained the underlying intentions.

Harry also understood why Dumbledore hadn't simply thrust a book into his hands and told him to start reading. Apart from having someone keeping an eye on Harry's progress, the Organized Mind had a considerable downside –it was based on partitioning the mind. For inexperienced practitioners, it carried the risk of splitting or even shattering the mind if they made a mistake. It took quite a lot of effort to mend to damage, which was one of the reasons why that specific method was best learned from a teacher who would know instantly what had been attempted. Luckily, a split or shattered mind could be healed. Harry didn't understand all the finer points of it but at least the general idea. To do it, a skilled Legilimens had to put the pieces back together by creating something called a Summersby-Tsareva bridge. From the way it was explained, it allowed the parts of the mind to flow into each other until only one part remained.

What's more, just the previous evening, Harry had found the time to read up on the last proposed approach to Occlumency. Since simply redirecting the attacks didn't sound applicable and portioning his mind held little appeal as well, Harry had settled on the third option: flooding the mind with a strong, but essentially irrelevant image. Should one try to enter a mind protected by that method, all they would see would be the picture put forth. Since it was the imagination of the practitioner, it could be a lot of pictures. A field of flowers. Nice to look at, but of little importance. The memory of a particularly funny joke. Endless laughter to drive the intruder nuts. The blistering pain of having the hand burned by scalding oil. The endless nothingness of Darkness reaching out in every direction. The feeling of drowning by being held underwater, lungs screaming for air. The shock of waking up. The sharpened senses, instincts flaring up and demanding a jump to safety. As long as the user could create the image, it worked.

The more stimuli the image contained, the more effective it actually was. True, it was effectively a bastardised version of the redirection technique, but since it built on strong stimuli, on emotions rather than knowledge, it worked fairly well for emotionally inclined people like Harry. It also helped them focus their mind on single tasks and images, to branch out into traditional redirection later on. Combining the two allowed the redirection to a memory or thought that was condensed stimuli. Ultimately of course, all approaches led to a similar result, but, lacking a physical matter to handle, the way to reach the goal played a significant role.

Returning to school would mean more than that, though. It would mean finally leaving behind the feeling of inactivity. Every summer, he had felt limited. Weak. Stuck. Waiting. After he had learned he was a wizard, he had sorely missed magic during the holidays, but especially after his problems with the Ministry, he had had no wish to tempt his luck.

The past summer had been the worst. He had known what awaited him –a war. He had seen the price of his inaction –death and destruction. He had experienced the heavy atmosphere around the Burrow, but his hands had been tied. He had had to spend his time lazing around, reading, writing occasionally or playing with his friends while others had fought for their lives. The Chosen One people called him, and with good reason. But what had he done with his time in the last months? What good had he done, while everyone had placed their hopes on him?

"... And Daddy said we would have to try again another time. They are rather crafty, after all, they might have hidden as soon as we arrived." Luna stared at Neville, who simply shrugged half-heartedly.

"I... guess so," he replied in the end "No clue then? That's too bad."

The girl shook her head forcefully. "No, it is the best I could ever hope for! Since we found no clue, Daddy and I will have to look another time! He really needs to get out more, and I like travelling with him."

Harry decided to change the topic. "Well, it's now back to school. Feeling excited for your O.W.L.s?"

"Oh, I think it will be a very interesting year, but I hadn't thought about my O.W.L.s much. Daddy says they are without real meaning anyway, since they are only a way for the Ministry to control the masses. That way, people will have to learn the Ministry-approved theories and will stop questioning their government. And the marks from the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s don't really matter once you have a job, anyway. Didn't you know that, Harry?"

He would have loved to answer, but found himself unable to. Frankly, he had no idea how to reply to her outlandish theory since, for once, it made perfect sense. It would be very much like the Ministry he had come to know over the years to invent a education system just to keep the country in their grip.

Finally, Harry settled on a safe route. "I... No, I didn't know that. Err, excuse me, I'll go wash my hands; I grabbed into something earlier."

Once in the corridor, he felt the stares again. Did the people honestly have nothing better to do than watch his every move?

Luckily, he found a bathroom not too far away and ducked inside. After thoroughly washing his hands and drying them far more carefully than he had been allowed on Privet Drive, he backed out, and immediately ran into someone. Whirling around, he came face to face with Susan Bones.

"Sorry, I didn't look where I was going!" he began.

"No problem, really." An awkward silence settled, and Harry became painfully aware that he was standing next to an attractive girl –one he had run into –and couldn't think of a single topic. Or none he considered appropriate. In the end, she gestured towards the corridor, and he gladly followed her suggestion.

"Enjoyed your summer?" she asked after a moment.

He fought down the different impulses – to lie, to pour his heart out, to brag –and settled on the safe and noncommittal route. "It was alright. I played Quidditch a lot, read a bit. But nothing of importance."

She stopped at a door, and Harry, glancing over her shoulder, could see a few Hufflepuffs staring back. Susan had her hand already on the handle when he placed his on her wrist. Curiosity flashed in her eyes, and Harry became aware of the raised eyebrows in the compartment. A year ago, he would have minded. But he didn't, not anymore. Why should he, he was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One. At the beginning of last year they had believed him to be delusional, this year they would see him as a hero... He doubted he could take a leak without a drop-by-drop printed in the _Daily Prophet_. If he wanted to speak with someone, why shouldn't he just like every other person on the train?

"Listen, Susan, I... I read about your aunt. I am terribly sorry for your loss, I cannot..." He stopped. He meant it, but it still sounded so awfully wrong, so well rehearsed, even if he hadn't prepared for it. Instead, he pulled his hand back.

Susan smiled sadly at him. How he hated that smile. "Thank you, Harry." She turned to the door again, but stopped mid-movement, and faced him again. "You know, you really impressed her, both with your actions in the Ministry and at Hogwarts. There aren't many people who can say that about themselves. I think you would have gotten along really well."

As he looked at her, the reply already forming in his mind, the light overhead flickered for a moment, Susan's red hair suddenly becoming a shade darker. Harry didn't see her, but instead an older Hermione, yet the pain in her eyes was the same. It was a pain he recognized as his own, one he knew by heart. The pain of being left behind mingled with the fear of losing more; with each loss, each disappointment, each crushed dream or hope, the pain lessened, in a way, but it never went away.

Swallowing hard, he tried to say his thanks, but somewhere along the way, the words got jumbled, and all he managed was a feeble croak.

She understood. Susan gave him a sympathetic smile and entered her compartment.

Lost in his thoughts, he hardly noticed Susan leaving, or himself walking down the train and bumping into a glum girl maybe a year or two younger, and he also barely registered himself entering his compartment. Luna and Neville were talking about magical plants. Apparently, Luna had a certain fondness of them as well or maybe simply liked hearing the pudgy boy talk. Or maybe she found the obscure nature of the plants Neville talked about fascinating.

Neville. Yet another victim. His parents driven insane for information they didn't even have. Yet another defeat for the good side. The good side? Dumbledore's side, Harry decided. Neville had suffered just as much, probably even more than Harry who knew his parents were no more –gone, truly and irrevocably dead. So was Sirius. It wasn't easy, not by a long shot, but it was closure. He had no hope of seeing them again left to lose.

Neville on the other hand visited what was left of his parents year after year. How long had he done that? Had he ever accepted the inevitable –that his parents wouldn't get well again? It was possible, but Harry didn't believe it. He had seen Neville's face last Christmas, and had understood the stout defiance he had shown when faced with his friends. Neville hadn't given up; rather, he clung desperately to the last shred of hope. Perhaps it kept him going? Kept him from drowning in his sorrow?

And why had Neville become a victim in the first place? Because he could have been the One. It could have been him the prophecy had referred to. A possibility, nothing more, now no longer anything but a curiosity. Should he tell him? It would hurt Neville, surely. No one could understand that better that Harry. But Harry didn't want to be like Dumbledore, keeping people in the dark just because he wanted to shield them from their life and destiny.

Only, it wasn't Neville's life –it was Harry's. He was the Chosen One, destined to fight Voldemort until his dying breath –either one's, though Harry would place all his money on the survival of self-proclaimed Dark Lord. Really, what chance did Harry's secret power –love –stand against forty years of magical knowledge, wielded by a ruthless wizard hell-bent on power? And how was love supposed to stand against the sheer determination of a deranged mind?

Dumbledore surely had an ace up his sleeve. A secret he hadn't wanted to share with Harry at the end of last year. He had decided to teach Harry 'a bit of this and that' the coming year, so there had to be something useful the headmaster was finally ready to show. Advanced combat magic? Risky spells? Perhaps Dumbledore had found a way to solve the problem creatively. Sending Harry back in time or maybe just a message to the younger Dumbledore to fix the damage before it was done and Voldemort's rise to power had begun. Hermione had stressed the importance of not being seen when travelling into the past, but mainly, so no one saw the time traveller. There wouldn't be a Harry to run into, and Hermione hadn't said anything about messages, just people. But travelling back so far was very likely not possible, Harry knew it. There were too many factors to go wrong, and too many consequences to keep in mind.

It wasn't Neville's life or fault his parents had been taken from him. It was Voldemort's. He didn't need to know, but ultimately could, once everything had been done, once the prophecy had been fulfilled. He needn't know the role he could have played had things gone differently. The Longbottoms had simply been a casualty like many others. More victims of the war.

It would change. He, Harry, would learn from Dumbledore. They would work together; they would end the war. They would stop as much suffering as possible. They would finally make the change for the better and put a stop to all the nonsense. And Harry would tell Neville. He deserved to know what he had sacrificed for the betterment of wizarding Britain.

The door opened, and Hermione and Ron walked in.

"Ah, finally!" the witch sighed. "Really, I'm starting to wonder whether it is really worth it to be Prefect."

"The bath is nice," Harry countered. "And you do love to have influence on people. Plus, thinking about the girls in our year, there is no real alternative, you are the only one who is both daring enough to try and responsible enough to manage it."

"She is right, though," Ron sighed. "Not that I care much about the job, mind you. It takes forever to get anything done, and once you're finished, there's little time for fun."

"Anything important?" Harry asked to change the topic. He had heard Ron's complaints the last year, he didn't need an early start on this one.

"Not really," Ron replied. "A few rule changes, mainly concerning punishments. Apparently, the Teachers learned their lesson from last year; they don't want the students getting out of hand. The fifth-year Prefects are new, of course."

"Anyone we know?" Neville asked.

"I don't think so," Hermione said. "Well, the Gryffindors, of course. Jackson and Tabard. I think they'll do reasonably well, but only time will tell. I had hoped Parkinson would have lost her badge after last year. Such abuse of power should not be allowed under any circumstances."

"She's still a Prefect?" Harry questioned. He had wondered how she had gotten the badge in the first place, why she would be allowed to keep it after her obvious misbehaviour was beyond him.

"And Malfoy too," Ron grumbled. "Probably had to call in lots and lots of favours, or perhaps threatened all other sixth year boys. Although if Parkinson had already secured her badge... that'd be threat enough if you ask me. No one wants that cow around."

Hermione tutted at him. "We were asked to get along, Ronald."

"Fat chance. I'll leave Malfoy in peace when he is six feet under. I might have to make sure he stays there first."

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" Hermione stormed. He really should have known better than to make such an obvious threat. "You will not wish death upon another student! How... why would you ever think... We're supposed to get along!"

"How was he?" Harry interrupted. "You know, after all the trouble from last June?"

Hermione glared at Ron one last time before facing Harry. "Well, he was polite. If I had to guess, I would say he was just a tad bit more professional than usual. I don't think he so much as scowled at anyone. Why do you ask?" Behind her back, Ron mouthed his thanks, and Harry had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

"I was just curious. We did send his Daddy Dearest to Azkaban." Also, he was curious because of the contract with Greengrass. Did it bother Malfoy? Should Harry hope for it? A part of him told him he needed to keep an eye on the situation. Unsure of how he should feel about it, he continued, "So, he didn't fling curses at you? Weird."

Hermione frowned. "I know you don't like him, but he isn't as bad as you make him out to be."

"You punched him," Harry countered. "Rightfully so, no matter what you might think."

"I only slapped him, and only after he had overstepped a line. Violence is not acceptable," she claimed, blushing.

"Educational though," Harry replied with a shrug. "Not to mention entertaining." Just then, someone knocked on the compartment door.

* * *

"Good gracious! We're almost there already! Times sure flies when you're having fun, doesn't it?" Slughorn gave a laugh, and his whole body, every bit of blubber started shaking and bouncing. A walrus indeed. "Now, I don't want to hold any of you up. Don't forget, you can always come to me if you have any problems." For some reason, just like the food plates earlier, his sweeping glance also skipped some people and lingered longer than strictly necessary on Harry. Figures.

Once the door had closed behind them, Neville shrugged hesitantly. "Well, weird man. He'll fit in well at Hogwarts, no?"

Harry nodded and gestured down the train. "Yeah, I guess so. I met him during the summer, to be honest. He had taken up residence in some Muggle village." Lowering his voice, he continued, "Dumbledore said he has favourites –a collection of connections –and likes pulling strings. He was Head of Slytherin in his time."

"Slytherin," Neville mumbled. "Sneaky, in his own way. So he wanted to 'collect' you, then?"

Harry was about to answer when a girl stumbled out of a compartment. "I... sorry, wasn't intentional," she mumbled, but despite her blush as she disentangled herself from Harry, she was already grinning widely. "I wasn't looking, you know?" She sounded about as fake as her excuse.

It took Harry a moment until he could place the face. "Roberts, right? Hufflepuff Chaser?"

Her grin became even wider. "Yes! We never played against each other, unfortunately. But there's always this year, right? I'm looking forward to it, a chance to play with... against you."

"We'll see," Harry mumbled, slightly annoyed. Honestly, he was Seeker for a reason. Did she really think he hadn't noticed anything off? Did she think he hadn't noticed her hand slipping in his pocket when they had fallen?

"Well, see you, I guess?" And with that, she ducked back in her compartment with a last wink.

"Must be nice, having girl throw themselves at you," Neville commented with a sigh.

"Not really. Now then, let's see what she had wanted to slip me so badly?" Reaching into his pocket, he pulled the piece of parchment out and scanned it. "Meh. I know it's hypocritical of me, but she should work on her penmanship. Does she really believe I'll go for...?"

Neville glanced at the letter. "Well, from what I heard from Seamus, most wouldn't." His eyes shifted to the accompanying picture. "She fairly open-minded, don't you think?"

"No interest," Harry replied with a shake of his head. "I have better things to do..."

"Ouch. Maybe you set the bar to high," Neville pointed out, "she isn't that bad looking."

"True. But I'm fairly certain she wore a badge during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Not very endearing. And I can't remember her joining the DA either. I don't really care for fair-weather friends like that, and it's pretty telling that the only thing I could remember about her is that she plays Quidditch."

They entered their compartment. Luna nibbled on a huge piece of bread. Ron dozed, leaning against the window while Hermione was reading in one of her books –additional Runes work, from the looks of it. She sent them a quick glance.

"Did Slughorn want anything important?"

"Not really," Harry replied. "He just wanted to get to know the next crop. He collects important people and those who he expects to go far in this world. Neville, pureblood son of an important family. Zabini, rich, morally ambiguous mother. Smith, old family..."

"... and no brain," Ron supplied.

"Fierce Ginny..."

This caused Ron to gawk. Hermione ignored him and instead pointed to Harry. "And the fabled Chosen One, the Boy-Who-Lived and star Seeker Harry Potter. Yes, that makes sense."

"He also liked my mother, apparently," Harry added. "That could very well be the reason he wanted to see me. Or maybe he felt bad for the orphan. Or he could... ah, who am I kidding? Everyone wants the Chosen One," he said, sighing.

Neville smiled.

Hermione raised her eyebrow. "Anything you want to tell me? Either of you?"

"Nothing noteworthy," Harry waved off. "Roberts –that blonde Hufflepuff Chaser –conveniently stumbled into me in the corridor. Slipped me a letter. Nothing more."

"What are we, five?" Exasperated, Hermione rolled her eyes. "Slipping letters, honestly."

Neville's smile widened. "She included a photo." Ignoring Harry's half-hearted glare, he sat down next to Luna.

"You didn't say anything about a photo?" Hermione frowned at both boys. Did she have to distrust them like that? It wasn't as if they had taken it. Or asked for it. Or really made any effort to keep quiet about it. And it wasn't any business of hers, either, and very likely not meant for her eyes.

Harry shrugged. "She included one. It's a bit risqué. I'll probably burn it tonight or something."

Hermione extended her hand, and when Harry didn't react immediately, she snapped her fingers impatiently.

"It's nothing, really," he tried. She countered by staring at him expectantly. Sighing, he handed the envelope to her, and she looked it over.

"Nothing indeed," she mumbled, as she inspected the picture.

"I like how she tries in vain to cover that widow's peak," Ron piped up from beside Hermione. Really, such a grin should be forbidden, Harry thought. "Or how she wants to look as if that's something people wear."

"It is," Hermione replied, pursing her lips in contempt.

Ron whistled. "Really? No way! Look, you can even see..."

"Thank you, Ron," Hermione interrupted, and glared at him. "It is something some women wear at the beach, but definitely not in poses like that. She is... what, fourteen? Fifteen? Her giving such a picture away is very much..."

"Wicked!" Ron grinned.

"Wrong?" Harry offered, hoping to draw attention to him and away from Ron. "I already said I'd get rid of it, I just didn't want to bin it on the train."

"You can't, Harry!" Ron, distracted by the picture, yelled. Could he really not read the situation? "You have to keep it!"

"And get caught with it? No way. Knowing my luck, it'll be snape who finds it, and I can imagine what he'd say. No, I'll destroy it the first chance I get and that's final."

Hermione glanced at the letter. "You should. Ah, horrible penmanship." Looking up, she added, "And you two should get changed, we'll arrive in a moment."

Harry thought it wise not to argue. He could see the light of Hogsmeade station already in the distance. He pulled a robe from his trunk and started to slip it on when the door opened.

"Oh, giving a show, Potter?" came a drawling voice. "If only I had known, I'd have brought a camera."

Malfoy. And Harry had hoped to have one undisturbed train ride. It seemed some meetings couldn't be avoided. "Didn't know you swing that way, but then, it does explain a lot," Harry countered and turned around. Only Parkinson was with the blond boy. "Still Prefect, I heard? Well, Snape's looking out for his favourite boy, isn't he?"

Malfoy smirked. "He simply knows the importance of allies. Going against a Malfoy is a bad idea. Anyone stupid enough to dare that will have to pay the price sooner or later."

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't bother me, as you very well know. I've dealt with one, I'll deal with the other. Don't think it'll be much of a challenge, really, if you're anything like your father. So, tell me, how is it to be the bottom of the barrel?"

"You wish, Malfoys always come out on top. We have friends wherever we go."

"I know, your Daddy is surrounded by almost all of his, and just think, he owes it to me! Might as well send a few more his way. Maybe a little family reunion? Your aunt might find what she lost there the last time. Then again, small marbles and lots of rubble, so it might take a while."

"You can die trying, Potter," Malfoy replied with a thin smile. "But enough about about your delusions, let's focus on the reality. The train will arrive at Hogsmeade Station in a moment. We –that is, Parkinson and I, the trustworthy Prefects that we are –were asked to spread the word, so even the slow and lazy will be as appropriately dressed as they can manage. Naturally, my first instinct was to seek out Weasley and his ilk."

"Hah, very funny, Malfoy. What do you want?" Ron threw in.

The blond boy blinked before nodding. "I am a proper pureblood, and as such, I respect traditions. Such is the way of proper families, something you might not know about. So, I decided to pay Potter the visit he must have expected. I had to get it in sometime during the ride."

It was Harry's turn to blink. Somehow, Malfoy had managed to sound almost civilly. Then again, he still had that arrogance, which was surprising given his father's arrest.

Before Harry could answer, Parkinson scoffed. "Don't waste your time, they won't understand what you're trying to tell them. They aren't like us, and luckily, they'll never be."

Malfoy nodded slightly. "With the interest directed at you, Potter, it was surprisingly difficult to get a hold of you. I had expected people piling up in front of your compartment. They'd be swarming you, I thought. After all, any idiot can recognize your mug; it's why Weasley still follows you."

Harry quickly gestured for Ron to stay put. They were almost rid of him anyway. Malfoy smirked when he noticed, but didn't comment. Harry took the opportunity to speak once more. "Well, better than following the smell, which is why Crabbe and Goyle follow you. By the way, where are your henchmen? Trying to figure out how to tie their shoes?"

"Looking after my luggage. See, that's the important part about who you'll surround yourself with –usefulness. A valuable lesson I learned long ago."

Ron rolled his eyes. "That's the stupidest I've ever heard, Malfoy."

The blond shrugged casually. "You think so? Well, I'll trust your expertise, you are, after all, an expert on stupidity."

Ron jumped to his feet. Fortunately, he was predictable, and Hermione had grabbed his arm to hold him back. She replied, before Harry had the chance. "He had enough opportunities to study you –Ron learned about stupidity from observation."

After a moment of shock at hearing his friend's comment, Harry saw the moment to put a stop to it. "And Ron, Malfoy is right. Finding useful friends is important for him, they have to balance his shortcomings out. It's why he's always longing for more followers." Facing the Slytherins fully, he added, "Well, thanks for the visit, Malfoy, always nice to see just what I never want to become, but if you really have to inform all the students, you really should get going." And with that, he closed the door. "Polite? Professional? Hermione, we really should sit down and go over your definitions."

She shrugged. "Well, for him, it wasn't that unusual. No one got hurt, no wands were drawn, and the insults were rather tame..."

"I get it, I get it." Harry stared at the door. "Well, I feel considerably better, knowing he's still a jerk."

* * *

**Finally got them to Hogwarts. And finally had something more about Occlumency.**

**In case it wasn't clear, it's something along the lines of either redirecting attackers to some boring nonsense, hide what you don't want to have found (Snape's approach), or overwhelming the attacker with very strong thoughts. It's a bit like writing a story: some start at the beginning, some write a dramatic key moment and try to work out the story got there in the first place, and some authors sit down and plan the whole story in advance. All three approaches ultimately lead to a finished story, but not everyone works the same way.**


	6. Lessons in Magic

Posted 11/17/2013

**.**

**This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.**

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Lessons In Magic**

.

All in all, it had been as good a start into the year as could be expected, Daphne guessed. Professor Babbling had given them a lot to do in just two days: A fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and two reading assignments. Not impossible, but the day had only just begun. The witch hadn't been lying when she had warned the class that they'd have quite a workload for Runes ahead of them; if this was how she began the year, Daphne shuddered to think of what would follow over the next weeks.

Professor Snape had of course set a difficult task for Defence against the Dark Arts, and she dreaded the necessary research for it. Granted, since she was a Slytherin, she could always ask him about pointers, but it was too early in the year to use up what counted as the man's goodwill. No, she would wait until a later date to ask him for help.

Nonverbal casting had been interesting, Daphne thought. Being one of the five Slytherins who continued Defence had meant being paired with the rather serious Terry Boot from Ravenclaw. True to form, he had been a wealth of information –Ravenclaw, what else? –and quite fast on the uptake. His spell casting had been more haphazard than normal, occasionally hitting her thigh, shoulder or missing completely, but then, Daphne had been worse. Since he hadn't complained when her stinging hex had hit rather more south than she had intended, she felt little reason to whine about his hits.

Predictably, Granger seemed to have managed first if Longbottom's performance was any indication. Then again, he might have just been acting to bolster her confidence and get Granger's attention or something. The minds of boys were strange sometimes, and Gryffindor's even more so, Daphne guessed. Professor Snape hadn't commented on Granger's spellcasting, so it wasn't any of Daphne's concern.

"Pay up," interrupted the voice of her dorm mate Tracey. The blonde grinned as she extended her hand.

Daphne blinked. Being pulled from her thoughts like that didn't sit well with her, and given so little to work with, she had no idea what the other girl was talking about. Her face had shown apparently.

"Our bet, remember? Yesterday in the Great Hall? You said Potter would lose at least ten points."

Daphne nodded. It had seemed like a certainty. When hadn't Professor Snape taken points from the boy? "He got punished," she tried to point out. It was a feeble attempt, but true.

"You lost fair and square. You said he'd lose at least ten points, he didn't. My Galleon, please?"

"I said he wouldn't leave class without getting punished, ten points at least," Daphne replied, but she still fished the coin out of her pocket. She should have known better than to leave the bet open to interpretation, even if she hadn't meant it to be one in the first place.

"Thanks," Tracey said, smiling at her friend. "Do you think we'll finish the assignment before I have to leave for class?"

Daphne readjusted the grip on her bag. "An hour won't be enough. We'll see how much we can manage. Tell me again, why did you take Muggle Studies?"

"Easy grade, simple as that. And since neither the Ministry nor the teacher have any idea about the life of non-magicals, it's mostly rubbish anyway."

Daphne frowned. She had thought about taking it, initially. It was true, Muggle Studies was considered to be laughably easy for those who grew up around Muggles and the like. Tracey, whose surviving grandfather was a Muggle and had made a fortune in trade, had learned a lot from all her visits to him. For someone like Tracey, Muggle Studies was indeed laughably easy.

Daphne had toyed with the idea of taking Muggle Studies for a number of reasons, not only because of a supposedly easy grade. She had wanted to understand what her friend had been talking about, for one. Learning about a different world fascinated Daphne somewhat. She had dreamed about making a living for herself, believing the marriage contract with the Blacks to be nothing more than a formality that had to be dealt with sometime before her seventeenth birthday, perhaps opening a store or working as a researcher; it sounded like an engaging career. Even a job at the Ministry wasn't that bad, apart from being work, and with the contact with Muggle society, knowledge about them was very important. As a child, she had heard an uncle ramble about witches and wizards constantly risking the exposure of the wizarding world by being... well, ignorant. He had chosen another word, one Daphne's mother had forbidden her children from repeating, but it was still true. During his work as an Obliviator, he had to have seen a lot of foolishness, and a fool was something Daphne didn't want to become. Working for the Ministry, keeping the secret of magic, that too sounded rather interesting in theory, and for that, she needed to know how to stay inconspicuous.

Of course, taking Muggle Studies would have made her less attractive for the Malfoys as well, something Daphne would have liked quite a bit. Anything to give them more reason to buy out was welcome. When the time had come to choose her classes, she had borrowed the Muggle Studies book from another student. However, what she had read had seemed weird. Odd ideas, strange words, outlandish concepts... after forcing herself through a chapter, she had known it wasn't a subject for her. Despite what the book claimed about the similarities in the lives of wizardkind and Muggles, this weird _Electricity_ had her reeling. Power from somewhere, used for a lot of things, existent in nature, but also produced by Muggles through strange contraptions, at the heart of Muggle life like magic, but then, not part of themselves, separate, yet somehow connected...

No, Muggle Studies wouldn't have been an easy grade, not for her. And why should she bother with it? Lots of witches and wizards had no idea about Muggles and still got along well. She didn't need to learn about Muggles, she just had to be observant and copy their behaviour.

"There's nothing easy about it. Not for me," she reminded her friend. "I get why you took it up to the O.W.L.s. But why continue? You've seen Professor Snape when you told him. Both Theodore and Pansy tried to talk you out of it, and you really don't need it that much, right?"

Tracey bit her lip and lowered her voice. "Well, I might. Grandpa is getting on in age. He asked me whether I might be interested in taking over from him. If I do, I'll have to work with Muggles daily. I'm not sure I'll do it, but... if I have to work for a living, I might as well choose a job that pays very well, even if I have to deal with Muggles constantly. And if I do take over, I will need Muggle Studies."

"Ah," Daphne agreed. It made sense, or about just as much sense as willingly working with Muggles did. Why not relegate it to Muggleborns? They knew how to get around in Muggle society. They wouldn't have any problem fitting in. But to each their own, Daphne thought. "You told Theodore, I assume? He seemed oddly... accepting during our Defence lesson."

Tracey smiled softly. "He is, in a way. But then, it's not his business, is it?"

"No, it literally isn't. I also noticed he didn't want to curse you? Anything you want to tell me?"

"Not really. We met last Wednesday. Well, our families did. One of our aunts married, you see? Well, most of the people were considerably younger, mostly the girls. Giggly and hanging off their parents, nothing fun about them. Theodore came to my rescue. I much prefer dancing with him than grabby granduncles who can't make up their mind what I am to them. So, Theodore and I talked a bit, more out of necessity than anything, but it was fun."

After a quick glance around to make sure no one saw them, they entered the Common Room. It wasn't crowded, most of the students were probably outside enjoying the sun or in class. In a corner, Malfoy sat with the fifth year Prefect Summers and the fourth-year Brooks. Tracey seemed to have noticed them too as she steered Daphne over to another table. "And you? We didn't get to talk about it when we met during the summer, not with Pansy around. Has anything changed with you and Draco? With the contract?"

Daphne fought hard to keep herself from flinching. Something had changed alright, but she knew better than to tell Tracey. She liked her, the girl was good company and smarter than she let on, but at the same good friends with Pansy. Combined with Tracey's tendency to ramble as soon as she was so much as tipsy meant that Daphne had always been careful with secrets around her. "Not really. He's still tight-lipped about it. Well, more than usual, really. The Malfoys are still stalling, likely waiting for us to make a move. I asked my parents, but apparently, they haven't found a way for us to dissolve it yet. And Draco, well..." She shrugged miserably.

She did feel bad for him, but more so for herself. His father was imprisoned, true, and the absolute majority of their money taken or tied up, but it was still only a question of time until Lucius Malfoy was free once more. Last winter, Draco had boasted about his aunt's escape from Azkaban and how the Ministry would ultimately have to come to their senses and see reason and join the winning side.

With the way the war was going, the Dark Lord would surely break his followers out when the time was right. That was why it was only a question of time until father and son were reunited. Or, if the rumours were true, until Draco would be handed what was left of his father. Dark Lords didn't forgive failure easily after all, and getting captured alongside high-ranking Death Eaters on Ministry premises after being stopped by a bunch of school children they outnumbered two to one was a fiasco. Yes, she felt for Draco, but more than that, his situation was the reason she was still tied to him. The closer her birthday came, the more convinced Daphne was the Malfoys were trying to get their hands on the Greengrass' gold, one way or the other.

Tracey nodded. "That's too bad. Let's hope for the best, then? See, if the Dark Lord takes over before Malfoy's birthday, Draco'll get the money from the spoils of war and might give you your freedom. That'll work, right?"

Laughing slightly, Daphne shook her head. "Sure, if you say so. Let's hope the Dark Lord's plans will free me from the contract."

They settled at one of the tables and spread their belongings. Just as Daphne was about to start, Tracey added, "Though there are worse things in life, you know? He isn't that bad of a match when you think about it –a pureblood from a respected family –two, actually –with ties to some influential people. He has a claim to a lot of gold, even if the Ministry is interfering right now, and connections to the Dark Lord as well. Once his rise to power is completed, Draco's family will be better off than ever. They're on the winning side if the rumours about the Malfoys are true." She nodded over to the boy. "He seems to take his responsibilities seriously this year, so he may have grown up over summer. That's nice, isn't it? And although I will deny it should she ever ask, Pansy was right, he has grown up to be quite..."

"You can have him for all I care. I want my old friendship with Pansy back. No more awkward silences, at least; that's what I want right now. Didn't you see how she acted back in August? I wrote her a letter, you know? I told her about my summer, about all the random happenings around the house, and our short trip to Paris. She wrote me the most formal letter I can remember ever receiving from anyone I know, including the goblins."

"Ouch, I didn't know that was possible. Well..." Tracey hesitated. "I know, how you feel, yes. But... it hurt her a lot, when all her neat plans fell apart. You know, she had already started planning her wedding, and who can fault her? With... you know," she gestured vaguely at her own body, something Daphne had little trouble understanding, "and her parents surely encouraging her to get her hands on such a fortune... you know how they are. Even if the Malfoys don't have to Galleons to rub together, Draco'll still inherit a lot. And with Draco... you know," Tracey shrugged weakly, before she continued, glancing around the common room, "one can never be too sure. I know he had his eyes wandering in the past, a smile and a bit of skin and he might fall."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Boys. I guess you're right. Still, she doesn't have to take it out on me. I don't want this anymore than she does, so why does she treat me like the traitor?"

After a moment of silence, Tracey shrugged again. "Well, you know her. Do you really think she'll let it go? I'm sorry, but I doubt it. With a memory like hers, I'd expect her to hold it against you even after you are dead." She snorted. "Imagine that, Pansy at your grave with a moving funeral speech before she closes with 'Took my man, stupid bitch!'"

It was Daphne's turn to snigger. "Don't think so. I fully intend to send her ahead of me." Shaking her head, she sobered up. "I guess you're right. But I still miss the old times, you know?"

"Truth be told, she doesn't want to take her anger out on you, not really. I know she'd love nothing more than to get Potter and his minions for something. Anything, really."

Daphne blinked. She hadn't spent that much time around the other girl, mostly because Daphne didn't like the frosty atmosphere, but she hadn't noticed any of that. "Really? Why would she challenge Potter like that?"

"Well, she figured, you know, that it's his fault Draco's father was captured. Well, that's true, from what the _Daily Prophet_ said. And everyone knows without Granger the boy can't do anything, so she's equally guilty. Those Weasleys are, well... Let's see... Longbottom? He's a disgrace quite frankly, or so Pansy claims; it might be the anger talking. Someone's missing, though."

Millicent chose that moment to join them. "The Lovegood girl." Seeing their looks, she shrugged. "She was caught with them that evening; I was there as part of the Inquisitorial Squad. Remember? What are you talking about, anyway?"

"Pansy's revenge against those who wronged her," Tracey replied. "Anyway, yes, that Lovegood oddity. But you know what's really funny? Draco didn't let Pansy do as she wanted to. They had a fight about that, actually. She really wanted to make them pay, but Draco told her not to. Something about setting examples, I didn't listen that well."

"He said they had to be exemplary Prefects," Millicent added. "I guess Professor Snape got pressure from Dumbledore. It would be like the Headmaster to give our Prefects an ultimatum of sorts after last year... my Mum always said Dumbledore has to have a soft heart or he wouldn't let the Mudbloods in." She rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"More like a soft head," Tracey said, smirking. Ignoring Brooks, who stormed past them towards the girl dorms, Tracey rearranged the books in front of her. "So, Defence then. 'The differences in application of nonverbal casting concerning the subgroups of spells with special focus on offensive and defensive magic, including examples in minute detail'. Great, and here I thought I'd be finished someday. That title alone takes forever to write." Turning to Daphne, she raised an eyebrow. "Any idea what he's fishing for?"

* * *

The surface rippled, and only a moment later, both reappeared in the room they had vacated about three-quarters of an hour ago. Dumbledore naturally landed far more gracefully than his student, years of experience with his Pensieve helping him.

Harry's scanned the portraits on the walls, wondering if they had watched eagerly for their return. "So, the girl..."

"Merope," Dumbledore supplied.

"... what happened to her?" He had never met her, but couldn't help but feel for her. Being mistreated constantly by her own family had to have been awful, and it was a bit too close to home for him.

Dumbledore allowed himself a small smile. "She survived." He sat down behind his desk. "Ogden returned shortly after, and with reinforcements. Marvolo and Morfin were arrested –Marvolo for resisting arrest and injuring a Ministry worker in the process, Morfin, known for Muggle attacks, got three years in Azkaban. His father received six months."

"Marvolo?" Harry wondered. "That's..."

"Voldemort's middle name, yes. After his grandfather."

"So... wait," Harry said, unwilling to believe it. "If Gaunt was Voldemort's grandfather, and with his father being a Riddle... then Merope...?"

"Was his mother, yes," Dumbledore agreed. "They were the last descendants of the Gaunts, a very old Wizarding family known for their habit of marrying their cousins and the odd concentration of insanity as well as a penchant for violence."

"That sounds like Voldemort alright."

"It is something you might find in pureblood families occasionally. The Gaunt's gold squandered, all that remained were the heirlooms and their arrogance. You have also caught a glimpse of Voldemort's father."

Harry nodded. "The Muggle on the horse, right? His companion called him Tom."

"Indeed. Very good, you paid attention to these details," Dumbledore said. "Tom Riddle Senior, handsome and wealthy man that he was, liked riding and just so happened to pass the cottage of Marvolo Gaunt and his children on his outings. Perhaps he merely wanted to show his disdain for the Gaunts."

"And yet he married Merope," Harry pointed out. "Strange how these things work."

"Oh, he did. But I think you are forgetting Merope was a witch. Once Marvolo and Morfin were in Azkaban, she was alone and free. She might have developed her abilities under these drastically improved circumstances, and it is my belief she learned to control her magic better than we have seen in that glimpse into her life."

Harry shook his head. "So she bewitched him? Isn't that illegal? Wouldn't the Ministry notice? The magic would have to show up, they know when magic is performed on a Muggle. That... Ogden, he said a spell had been detected when Morfin gave that Muggle... gave Riddle that bloody nose."

"Spells are registered by the Ministry, yes," Dumbledore agreed. "Since no warning went out, I am inclined to believe something different. Can you guess what I am thinking about?"

Harry thought about it. He had seen Mrs. Weasley give Ginny a few pointers over a cauldron in their kitchen as they had been brewing minor healing potions. No warning had arrived for that. "A love potion, then?"

"That was my idea, yes. On a hot summer day, she might have offered the man a drink, an easy task. Even if she wasn't... quite to his tastes," Dumbledore said like a true politician, "he might have accepted a drink from her. In any case, shortly after the scene we have just witnessed, they ran off together. Marvolo, upon his return, found nothing more than a letter explaining what she had done. He died soon, maybe the shock had contributed to it."

"And Merope? She had run off, but I know Voldemort had been in an orphanage, so..."

"Tom Riddle appeared a few months after he had run off, saying he had been 'hoodwinked' by Merope. The villagers thought she had pretended to be pregnant and carrying his child."

"But she was carrying his child," Harry pointed out.

"When Tom Riddle returned, yes, but he left her when she was still pregnant," Dumbledore replied. "Maybe he knew about the child, but he never looked for either Merope or his son. He might have known she had somehow made him love her, and he might have stayed away from her for that reason. He might have feared to be spellbound by her once more. Or maybe he didn't care about his child."

"Why did the potion stop working?" Harry wondered. "Can people develop a resistance or something?"

"Most likely, Merope stopped giving him the potion, believing him to have fallen for her for real. It is my belief that she loved him and secretly hoped he would return the feelings. He left her as I already mentioned." Dumbledore glanced outside. "Well, please think about what we have discussed."

Harry nodded. "It is important, then? Voldemort never met anyone of them, right? Not his mother or father, not Odgen?"

"Knowing the origins is very important, Harry, because as a supposedly orphaned boy, it was important to young Tom. He had been wondering where he had come from, and I think it kept Tom awake during his time at school as well."

"And it has something to do with the prophecy?" Harry inquired.

"Yes. Knowing about the goals and interests of your enemy might prove to be useful. Since Voldemort grew to be a man who would decide to act upon a prophecy he hadn't heard in full, looking into his motivations and fields of interest might prove useful. It might give you a better understanding of him and allow you to understand his thoughts and decisions. The wishes and desires of men can easily be their downfall."

"Right," Harry replied, remembering the end of last year and his desire to save Sirius. "Am I allowed to tell Ron and Hermione? They know I'm here and..."

"I believe you should tell them, yes. Especially Miss Granger might prove to be a valuable confidante. But they should not repeat it to anyone else or we might lose our advantage."

As Harry walked to the door, he saw an ugly ring resting on a small table. Turning, he asked, "Sir, this ring... It's Marvolo's, isn't it? From the memory? The one he was so proud of? You wore it the night we met Professor Slughorn."

"I did, yes. I acquired it recently."

"Around the time you injured your hand?" Harry asked shrewdly. Seeing Dumbledore's nod, he wished goodnight and left. So Dumbledore wanted to teach him about Voldemort's origins. Yes, that might be a good starting point, and something Harry would most likely not find anywhere else. Maybe they could work together after all.

As he walked through the dark corridors, Harry thought about what he had seen. Marvolo Gaunt, violent and short-tempered. Definitely a trait carried on in his grandson. Morfin Gaunt, discriminating and cruel, taunting his sister –his victim. That too fit Voldemort. Merope Gaunt, the mistreated girl, working for her ungrateful family and altogether not the best witch. Of course Voldemort couldn't have inherited her traits, could he? No, that would have been too easy.

Harry reached the Common Room and found both his friends waiting for him. Being Prefects did seem to have advantages besides the bathroom. He told them what he had learned. Hermione of course made her comparisons to the mistreatment of house-elves. Ron shook his head.

"That is so weird. So, did Dumbledore tell you anything else? Spells to learn or something?"

Harry thought about it. No, they had watched the memory, nothing more. "No. I think he's trying to lay some foundation, give me an understanding what kind of personality I'm facing before teaching any spells. Kind of like getting me in the right mindset." After a moment of hesitation, he added, "Getting me inside his head."

"Ah, too bad," Ron groaned.

"I'd have liked a different approach as well, yes, but... spells aren't everything, and I am already swamped with work, ain't I? Well, I'm off to bed. Long day and all." After a hasty goodnight to Hermione, he left. But he didn't go to sleep. Instead, once he was in his dormitory, he grabbed Smith's book and a candle he had taken from the kitchen. He had much to learn, and his Occlumency really needed work –he needed tostart his practical Occlumency lessons.

Harry settled in a relaxed position on his bed, closed the curtains with a swish of his wand and lit the candle. The book had advised to use the exercise to learn better focus on single images or the absence of any thought. True, Snape had ordered Harry to clear his mind, something remarkably similar, but the book had also explained the reason for the set-up. For people with strong emotional attachments and an impulsive nature, the first step to successful Occlumency was gaining control over their inner turmoil. Since their emotions were an essential part of their life, learning to direct them and if possible manipulate them allowed for better protections. It was also the cornerstone of his intended shields. And so, Harry focused his attention on the flickering light in front of him. Fighting down the first thought and disregarding just how foolish it seemed once it was actually done, he kept his eyes on the flame and reached inside himself. Initially, all he noticed were the signals from his body. His legs threatened to cramp. Fatigue rose in him. Maybe he should have left it for another day? Since Harry hadn't told anyone about the book, nobody would learn about it either. What did it matter whether he allowed himself a night of lazing?

After a while, he felt what could only be described as a current. Something seemed to cycle through him, a constant flow of emotions or perhaps just the magic. So that, he guessed, was the goal. The longer he concentrated on the feeling, the clearer he could picture it. For some reason, it reminded him of the ocean. He had seen it on TV once, the rolling of the waves on the beach, a silent reminder and expression of the underlying force of nature.

The flame in front of him flickered as someone entered the room, and Harry was drawn from his musings. If he had to guess, about half an hour had passed since he had last checked. Strange how time had flown since then. More importantly, he couldn't remember looking at the candle in a while. He hadn't fallen asleep, had he? But no, while he didn't remember seeing a candle, he distinctly recalled watching the flame.

Hadn't the book mentioned something about that? Getting lost in his own thoughts was nothing new for Harry, and he hadn't memorized the finer details of the procedure all that thoroughly after deeming it safe enough to try.

He found the part he had been looking for rather easier than expected. Indeed it was described as a side-effect of the exercise. But since he was only at a preliminary stage of Occlumency, lack of awareness wasn't a long-time danger of the art. Well, good to know, Harry thought. If he wanted to protect himself, he needed to be there and alert.

He put the book away again. He needed to learn Occlumency quickly, and since he didn't feel all that tired, he wanted to give it another try. Knowing what to look for, he found the feeling far easier than before. In fact, he could almost feel the waves, this strange power swaying within him. Sometimes, it felt as if it concentrated somewhere, but most of the time it was simply present.

And then, he felt something brush his cheek, reminiscent of sunshine, only to be gone after a moment.

Harry pushed his curiosity down. It had probably only been a memory, maybe the feeling of a summer day working in the garden and away from his cousin. Or maybe the wind had played a trick on him, brushing the slightly warmer air from the candle past his face. True, the flame hadn't flickered at all, but then again, he was far from an expert on the happenings in the world. Instead of thinking much about it, he refocused and found the waves within him. He had really begun to get a feeling for it. Maybe all this Occlumency wasn't as hard as everyone had claimed? Maybe Snape was simply awful at teaching?

He sank deeper and deeper, trying to understand the feeling. Ah!, a small whirlpool just below his heart, how curious. Did everyone feel that way? A ripple travelled through him and down his arms. How peculiar.

The candle sizzled and died. Harry was torn from his thoughts and stared at the remains. How long had he sat there? He hadn't even noticed his body had shifted slightly. He would have to think about it later as it was obviously late in the night. He cleaned up hastily and grabbed the curtains to put the candle on his bedside table. But as soon as he touched the fabric, his fingertips tingled. Surprised, he pulled his hand back, and it went back to feeling normal.

Harry blinked. Had someone done something to his bed? It was possible, but he was a Gryffindor. He wouldn't fear some stupid prank. He reached out again, and again, as soon as skin touched the curtains, his fingers tingled. Alright, he thought, he hadn't imagined things. Turning around, he touched the curtains on the other side of his bed, and got the same sensation.

He ripped the curtains apart. The room looked like normal. Even in the dark, he could make out the shape of Dean's foot sticking out of his bed. Sharing a room for over five years, Harry had learned about the quirks of his dorm mates. Ron's snores were luckily muted by the charms on his curtains, and Neville's midnight thrashing had stopped sometime during fifth year.

Allowing himself a small smile, Harry put the candle away. Then, he eyed his curtains warily. What was going on? A prank seemed reasonable, but then it was a very weak one. He hadn't sprouted antlers, hadn't started getting violently sick, hadn't found the world turned upside down or his body's movements mirrored.

"Four friends fought ferociously," Harry tried, and found his speech unchanged. He tried the alphabet next, and couldn't hear any abnormalities. So it wasn't some babbling curse.

He reached out to the curtains once more, but the sensation did not return. Perhaps something had gone wrong with the exercise? He grabbed the book, finding the chapter with ease, and started reading again. As far as he could tell, he had made no mistake in the set-up. The instruction were reasonably easy after all. So he still had no explanation. Absentmindedly, he paged back to the start of the description.

"... a modification of Byrne..." Harry read, lost in his thoughts. He had brushed the sentence aside during his reading –following every reference would have taken too much time and involved too many books for his liking. Naturally Hermione would have been outraged at this opinion, but then she wasn't normal when it came to books anyway. Still, with little else to go on, Harry searched the bibliography.

There it was. Byrne, On The Nature Of Magic and Mind. Huh, Harry thought. That sounded interesting.

* * *

October came, and with it the cold, harsh wind. Naturally, with Quidditch once again in full swing, Harry had been very busy, and Ron, playing as Keeper in addition to his duties as Prefect, had been rather stressed as well. With the teachers constantly increasing the workload, it was mainly thanks to Hermione that Ron didn't fall back too much. To his delight, Harry had found himself to be doing surprisingly well in school. Without having to waste precious time on History or much needed creativity on Divination and without Astronomy upsetting his sleeping pattern, he was able to focus on the subjects he actually liked at least somewhat.

Transfiguration and Charms were both very demanding, and he struggled with the theory as he had in the past, but he was also quite competent with the practical side and had so far managed to keep up. Defence was still his best subject with him constantly proving his talent, even if nonverbal casting still didn't work that well for him. His otherwise outstanding practical work in that class allowed him to concentrate on the theory, and as a result, Snape had to resort to low blows, abducting points for blinking during an important demonstration or improper attire for a tie being slightly off-centre. Herbology proved to be hard, but fulfilling work, mainly because it was not so much magic but physical labour, something he was accustomed to.

On the other hand, Potions proved to be one of his best subjects with the help of the Half-blood Prince. In fact, Harry had started to gain an understanding of the subject itself, something years under Snape's nose and beady eyes hadn't allowed him to accomplish. It reminded him of cooking in that there were some parts that couldn't reasonably be done any other way, but others allowing some leeway or shortcuts, even if he hadn't found a way to identify them yet. Some steps seemed to tie in with important magical principles and numbers, but others were simply odd.

His independent studies had continued rather well too. The exercise he had found had helped him a great deal. After a few tries, he had grasped the intended lesson –his mind was in a way similar to a spider's net, with his emotions connected to every one of his thoughts. Trying to lock them out would also drastically hamper him, slow him down –as if cutting the threads of the spider's web. Therefore, the goal wasn't for him to rid himself of them, but to control them and present the intruder just what they were meant to see. With this idea, Harry had begun exercises trying to gain a firm grip on his mind.

Interestingly, the strange sensation when touching the curtains had happened occasionally, but not consistently. Even more interesting had been the revelation that it extended to more than just his bed curtains. His glasses were oddly warmer than they should have been, the door handle to the bathroom felt cool to the touch, the showers gave off something of a draw, as if pulling something to them. His wand had felt oddly connected –it hadn't felt like a stick of wood, but more like a fingernail or hair; part of him without senses itself.

One Sunday morning in October, Harry worked on his Potions essay. He would have been able to hand in something already if he hadn't decided to put in a bit more effort than usual. He had a not entirely justified reputation to uphold, after all. It also gave him a handy excuse to read in the Half-blood Prince, not that he would tell Hermione that. It was the exception to the rule, and something Harry could see the appeal of –the many annotations were a veritable gold mine. In truth though, he made far less progress with his essay than he would have hoped, mainly because his mind constantly returned to his attempts to find out more about Byrne's book.

Naturally, since he couldn't ask Hermione without revealing Smith's book and his studies stemming from it, he hadn't told her about it. How would she react if she learned about it? Well, it was a book she probably didn't know already, so first of all, she would want to have a look at it. And since it contained knowledge she presumably didn't have available, she wouldn't like it being anywhere other than her possession.

As much as he loved his older sister from another mother, Hermione really didn't like not being more knowledgeable than everyone in her presence. That Harry was better at Defence still irked her even if she tried –unsuccessfully –not to show it. Ron naturally found it amusing. Seeing others successfully cast the Patronus during the DA when she had struggled with it had caused her to become equally as irritated. Being outshone in Potions by Harry repeatedly had annoyed her. Since the Half-blood Prince gave him an edge –one that he was in principle willing to share with everyone not in Slytherin –she had taken to criticize him for the work that in her opinion wasn't his, and ignoring Harry's observation that technically she hadn't invented the steps she followed for her Potions work as well. A book teaching him a skill she didn't have? Not something she'd take kindly to.

Faced with little choice, he had asked Madam Pince about Byrne's book.

"Byrne, Thomas? We don't have that book, Mr. Potter, and I doubt it would be of any use to you or anyone walking these halls. Where would I even get a copy of it? And how do you think the school would get the funds for something like that? Where did you even learn about that book?"

"Well," he had answered, feeling stupid for not knowing the reason for her outburst, "I stumbled upon the name somewhere, but couldn't place it. Do you know any book that gives details about Byrne? I'm more interested in what it is about now?"

She had glared at him long enough to make him retreat, careful not to turn his back on her.

He was drawn from his musings by Hermione walking towards him. She frowned at his book, but for once held back on commenting. Instead, she glanced around the room once more. "Have you seen Colin?"

"Creevey? No, thankfully. Why?" Harry inquired.

"Ah, I offered to help him a bit. It's his O.W.L. year, and he struggles a bit with Arithmancy." She shrugged. "Don't ask me why, I think it is very interesting and not as hard as people make it out to be."

Harry raised his eyebrow. "So you say."

"Ah, don't give me that look, Harry. It's true. Everyone with Muggle education should be able to understand it. And what's more, it is one of the most important subjects you will ever hear about!"

"More important than Defence? Charms? Transfiguration?" Harry asked sceptically.

"Oh, yes! All they ever do is teach the how and occasionally the theory behind specific spells. But with Arithmancy..."

Just at that moment, Colin came down the stairs. "Sorry, Hermione. I got held up. Hello, Harry! What are you doing? Homework?" He peered at the book. "It looks like classes will be very difficult in sixth year. Do you always write comments in your book? It might help; should I do that as well?"

"He doesn't usually write anything down," Hermione replied sourly. "And sixth year is a step up, but for anyone actually doing their work and not just relying on others or pointers, it is very much possible."

Feeling it better not to anger her more, Harry quickly packed up. She still hadn't forgiven him for keeping the Half-blood Prince, encouraging others to befoul their books wouldn't be wise. Just as he was about to leave, Hermione grabbed his arm.

"A moment, Harry. You know you should hand that book in, don't you?"

"I shouldn't, Hermione. Apart from the small titbits here and there..."

"The pages are almost black with ink," she countered.

"It is a book like any else," Harry reasoned. "I don't see any problem with that."

"It is not. You spend a lot of time reading it: In class, in the common room and the library, the dorm... not your usual behaviour, is it? And the 'small titbits' are very worrying. Who knows who wrote them in there?"

Harry smiled. "Funny, you complaining about someone reading." Growing serious, he added, "And I don't read it in the dorm." Hermione quirked an eyebrow in disbelief, and he understood. "Oh, so someone told you I read in the dorm? Well, that at least is true, but it wasn't the Prince's book, so no worries."

"Oh?" she countered. "I find it hard to believe you read one of your other school books. And you really aren't the type for pleasure reading, are you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I just so happen to have a collection of books in my trunk. _Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts_ say anything? With..." He lowered his voice, "with what I will be facing, I'm occasionally looking stuff up. Making sure I still remember it. And for the record, I have read _Quidditch through the Ages_. Which is my cue, I guess –I think I'll go prepare for training, you'll be busy with Colin?"

She blinked. "Err yes, I think so. _Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts_? Really? I didn't know! I'd love to help you with it. What are you working on right now?"

Despite himself, Harry answered truthfully. "Stances. Basically, I'm trying to learn combat stances so I might recognize them when the enemy tries an honest duel. Of course, we're talking about Death Eaters, so form is the last thing on their minds, and we both know there isn't much there anywhere, but..."

Colin chose that moment to intervene. "Hermione? Is there a problem? We can reschedule, no problem."

Taking the welcome out, Harry fled up the stairs after a quick goodbye to fetch his broom.

* * *

As Harry walked back to the Common Room, he suddenly found himself face to face with Luna Lovegood. The strangest aspect of the meeting was her appearance at all; as far as he knew, no hidden shortcuts were anywhere near, neither any niches or hiding places, no rooms or stairs. In fact, she seemed to have popped into existence in the middle of the hallway.

"Hello, Harry," she greeted him even as her eyes wandered from his face to the clipboard in his hand and then the broom in his other. "You were working with your team again," she told him.

"Yes, I know. How have you been lately? I remember the stress of O.W.L.-year all too well."

She tilted her head to the side. "It is alright. Most of what the professors tell us is not really new, just old knowledge in new words. But then, school work rarely caused me problems. My belongings haven't gone missing as much as in previous years, which is nice. Maybe it has something to do with the curses I put on them?"

"You cursed your own stuff?" Harry asked perplexed.

"Oh, nothing too harmful. Just slight itches, and boils, and nausea, and hair removal, and babbling, and shocks for anyone touching them, and paranoia, and..."

"Still some of them disappear?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Not many. Mostly small things I don't need and didn't curse," Luna told him. "But also, the number of people with sicknesses in Ravenclaw has increased lately."

"You don't say," Harry commented and wondered just how odd she really was. Surely she saw the connection, right?

"Oh, yes," Luna replied. "But like I said, it has been better this year. And some of my classmates really talk to me lately. Colin Creevey has told me about the Muggle world. He sounded really silly, but I didn't tell him that. And Ginny is just as nice she was before. How has your year been so far?"

"Alright, I guess," Harry said, "I'm Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain, which is nice. The classes are more difficult than ever, but I don't have to drag subjects along I can't tolerate. It helps focus, I guess."

"Rovers told me he wants Ravenclaw to slaughter the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but I doubt the professors will allow that," Luna told him.

"They won't allow it, but thanks for the warning, I appreciate it. Of course, I already know the other houses will try to show us up..."

"I will have to side with Ravenclaw against you. I'm sorry, Harry."

"Don't worry, I understand. But then, with Gryffindor already a strong contender..."

"One of four possible candidates," Luna pointed out. "But then, it does come down to only two in the end, and only one can win."

"True. But with our performance, it is unlikely Slytherin will win the Cup. And quite frankly, as long as they don't, I'm alright with it. In the last years, it was always between them or, well, Gryffindor. And that's not really all that thrilling. In fact, if either Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw give us a challenge, I'll be happy. It might shake up the school a bit, give us some excitement. With all that is going on in the world at the moment, having something to talk about other than death might be nice."

"You think?" Luna wondered, her eyes locked with his. It was strange how she could stare without blinking.

"Yes. You see, people are dying out there, and with each death out there, the morale takes a dive in here as well."

"Maybe you should start the DA again?" she told him. "Others liked it too, I'm sure. And I learned a lot from you. You were a good teacher."

"I... Thank you, Luna. I've thought about it, really, I have. But I'm already quite busy, and though I loathe to admit it people are learning a lot from Snape as well. And then there is the motivation to consider. Last year, lots of people were sick of Umbridge, the lack of education, and they more or less demanded to be taught, something that doesn't happen very often in this school. With Snape... Well, I don't like him, he is still dreadful as a teacher, but people will see their lack of progress as either their own fault or his shortcomings. And finally, the DA was a rebellion against the Ministry-enforced tyranny. I'm guessing some of the teachers looked the other way whenever they caught wind of it. Now it would be against one of their own, even if it is the least liked. Dumbledore wouldn't stand for it, and undermining the Headmaster is something I don't really like doing. Once I have settled in, I could try tutoring, if you want. A small group, more dedication to specific fields of magic..."

"I'd like that, Harry," Luna said. Then, in true fashion for Luna, she smiled at him and asked, "You're dripping on the floor, did you know that?"

* * *

**Well, that's another important step done and over with. It feels great to finally get something done. I'm already looking forward to the next chapter.**


	7. Charms

Posted 11/22/2013

**.**

**Finally getting this Chapter posted. It should clear sind things up, at least.**

**.**

**This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.**

* * *

**Chapter Seven – Charms**

.

After getting the permission, Harry entered. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking as old as ever. The many instruments around the room were puffing, and not for the first time, Harry remembered he still didn't know what they were actually doing.

"Good evening, Harry," the Headmaster greeted with a small nod. "How was your week?"

"Good," was the reply, for the youthful curiosity still lingered and kept Harry distracted. "Boring, kind of. I'm doing alright in class if that's what you mean."

"It is something that any educator likes to hear. However, many students find the beginning of the N.E.W.T.-years to be a considerable increase in difficulty."

"Not really, to be honest. I struggled with History and Divination, neither of which I continue. And with Snape gone..."

"Professor Snape, Harry. Common courtesy."

"Without him, Potions is actually manageable," Harry said. "Professor Slughorn explains and teaches and stuff, not just points to the instruction copied to the blackboard. I can't remember Professor Slughorn raising his voice or insulting anyone, which takes some getting used to. All in all, I only have to continue subjects with competent teachers whom I can at least tolerate. Oh, and Defence against the Dark Arts, of course, but then, despite Snape, I do learn it well enough from books and stuff. So, no worries." Harry pursed his lips. "Although it would be nice if Filch wasn't quite so forceful when checking the students going to or coming from Hogsmeade. Ron and I still have marks from our last visit."

"Ah, right. He does keep a close eye on the students he suspects of foul intentions. Did you have fun in Hogsmeade? I enjoyed it in my youth just like any other student who went there. Naturally, back then it had different stores, but some were already there in my time."

"It was alright, but I wasn't really in the mood. Not with the war. I was constantly looking over my shoulder and expecting an attack."

Dumbledore sighed. "It was to be expected. You know better than most what is going on. Incidentally, I received curious reports from my staff about you. A few of your professors mentioned your improved performance in class while Madam Pomfrey expressed her surprise over your prolonged absence from the Hospital Wing."

"Well, I didn't feel like hurting myself critically, so..."

"Quite alright," Dumbledore chuckled. "Madam Pince, however, voiced her displeasure over your reading preferences of late."

This stumped Harry. As far as he knew, only his friends knew about the Potions book. And he hadn't told anyone about his Occlumency lessons, wanting to wait until he had something to show for it. So what kind of reading choices could the librarian be concerned about?

After not receiving a reply, Dumbledore continued. "She told me about your interest in Byrne's work, and I had a bit of difficulty convincing her I hadn't told you about it. I have to admit to being very curious where you learned about him."

Harry laughed out. "Oh, him! I had no idea what you were talking about! Well, I read the name somewhere and wanted to know more, that's all."

Dumbledore fixed his guest with his eyes. "I wasn't aware of any book in school referencing him."

Harry blinked. He hadn't expected it to be any problem. Why did Dumbledore make such a fuss about that book? "Well, why shouldn't there be one? It's not like this Byrne guy is a secret, is it?"

"You haven't answered my question," the Headmaster pointed out. "And there shouldn't be one because they should have been removed by one of my predecessors. No, Byrne is not a secret, but also not someone you should have come across under normal circumstances." He sighed. "Unfortunately, this is something I have to follow up on, Harry. Did you find a book that told you about him?"

Harry carefully avoided looking at Dumbledore. "I haven't found such a book at Hogwarts. I read it somewhere else. What is it with this guy that is such a problem?"

The Headmaster leaned back in his seat. "You read about him somewhere else, aha. Well, it seems I need to talk to you about it, then. Thomas Byrne was a dark wizard in the late eighteenth century. Not evil in the strictest sense, mind you, and still within the laws of the time. He researched the nature of magic, for one, and delved very deep into the subject. He wrote a number of papers too complicated for anyone to understand save a few exceptionally bright minds. His contributions advanced many disciplines and helped form the understanding of magic as it is today. However, he also wrote a book, the one you were searching for, on the secrets of the mind. It changed the way mind magic was understood and taught, from Memory Charms to Occlumency and Legilimency, which is why all books that referenced him were removed from Hogwarts' Library –neither is an appropriate subject for students. His work is now considered a rare collector's work, almost priceless. And I ask you again: Where did you find the name?"

Harry stared at his Headmaster who looked sternly back. "Well, alright. I found this book when I was at... my house over the summer. Sirius seemed to have found it and left it in his room. It's about mind magic, Occlumency and Legilimency, you know? I took it." The occupants in the paintings shifted nervously for some reason. "That's where I found the name."

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Ah. That would explain it, yes. Who else knows about this book?"

"Err, Bill saw it. Why?"

"Alright. He didn't mention it –hmm. I will have to speak with him," Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Should anyone ask, you destroyed the book the moment you learned what it was. You burned it until only the ashes remained."

Harry jumped to his feet. "Burn it? Are you...? It's damn useful, there's no way I'll destroy it!"

Silence reigned for a moment, until Dumbledore cleared his throat. "You, err, read it?"

Harry felt himself shrink under the stares he received from the paintings and the Headmaster. "I... yes?"

"And you... understood it? Put it to use, then?"

Put on the spot, Harry became nervous. He really didn't like being at the centre of attention, especially since he didn't know the reason, but he could tell there was some hidden meaning to his answer. "Yes? A part of it, in any case, just the... Why, what's going on?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Well, you have made your life both easier and more difficult with that. So you have begun a bit of a project for... Charms, say? Did you find it instructive?"

"Charms," Harry deadpanned. "Sir, what are you talking about? I'm doing nothing for Charms. Not that I mind the subject, but... Why is it such an issue anyway? So I read the book. It doesn't have me on the edge of my seat, but it's alright. Hermione reads dozens, and no one is bothering her."

"Well, Harry, it is an issue, I'm saddened to say," Dumbledore spoke up, carefully weighing his words. "If you were to read the laws, you would find both the learning and teaching of Occlumency and Legilimency to be forbidden in Great Britain."

Harry jumped to his feet. "What? But last year..."

Dumbledore quickly raised his hand, and Harry found himself unable to speak. "You received Remedial Potions, remember? Professor Snape was kind enough to offer his help in that subject. And this year, you have taken up a Charms project that might prove to be very useful in your later life. Do not get used to calling it anything else. So tell me, did you progress well? Have you found access to the discipline?"

With his voice returned just as suddenly as it had gone, Harry said warily, "It's going alright? I'm currently... er... working out some kinks, getting routine in it? Sir, about Occlumency and Legilimency... are they really forbidden?"

Dumbledore smiled. "So you are developing your talents. That is nice to hear. It is a rather interesting field, and one only few really look into. To answer your question, yes, it is forbidden to learn or teach either discipline, and both is punished harshly. Can you imagine why?"

As Harry sat down, he thought about the question. "Are they dangerous? Tinkering with the mind could cause serious harm, right? That's what the... I thought when I did my project."

"It could be, yes, but that isn't the reason. No, Occlumency allows the citizens who have mastered it to have secrets from the Ministry, something it strongly disliked. Why would someone want to keep secrets from the Ministry if not because they plan to oppose it? Dissent forms in secrecy, Harry; there cannot be another reason for people wanting to protect their mind. For that reason, for the safety of the populace, and in order to hinder dissension, it was forbidden to teach or learn Occlumency as well as to possess the means to do either. The punishments for both are very harsh, years in Azkaban, as it is seen as attempted high treason.

"However, at the same time, the Ministry acknowledged the complications such a law would have. For one, those who already knew it couldn't simply be sent to prison for it. More importantly, though, the Ministry had secrets of its own to protect. That is why, even today, teaching and learning Occlumency and Legilimency is forbidden in Great Britain, the use of Occlumency, however, is still legal, albeit frowned upon. People go abroad to learn it, naturally. Of course, talking among accomplished Occlumens about the subject is also legal since both sides are already familiar with it."

"That's stupid, though. It ignores the whole sense behind the law."

"Has no one told you how much pureblood –and they were the driving force behind that law –like loopholes to abuse? Anyway, Legilimency is highly restricted and generally only allowed for Ministry personnel –after all, they might have to search for the scerets someone is trying to hide from the Ministry. But enough about the legal issues around those two disciplines. Do you think you will finish your Charms project?"

Harry bit his lip. He chose his words carefully, aware of the eyes staring down on him. "Well, I'm progressing quite well, better than I did with Snape's Remedial Potions last year. I guess a month or two and I should have it cracked."

"Well, I'm looking forward to seeing the results then. But enough dallying. I think it is time to continue with our lessons. Today, I have a memory you may find interesting. Last we met, I told you how Tom Riddle Senior had left his wife, Merope, and returned home. As you know from your second year, Tom Riddle Junior grew up in a Muggle orphanage. So let me enlighten you now about how that came to be. Merope, after her husband had left her, stayed in London. How she managed to survive, I do not know as I doubt she had a lot of money. It also seems as if she stopped using magic, perhaps because she resented that which had driven Riddle Senior away, or perhaps her heartbreak cost her the ability."

"That's possible?" Harry interrupted.

"If fear can hamper it, why shouldn't heartbreak block it? She was in London where, late in her pregnancy, she sold her necklace to Caractacus Burke of Borgin and Burke's. On New Year's Eve she showed up at the orphanage where Tom Riddle Junior grew up. Now then, let us enter the memory I have picked for tonight." Once the Pensieve rested on the table, both entered, leaving the room empty and silent.

After a moment, the painting of an unkempt wizard cleared his throat. "I spy with my little eye..."

His neighbour sighed. "Jacob, you're blind."

The painting of Jacob grumbled. "Anyone heard a good joke lately?"

An hour later, the surface of the Pensieve rippled. The paintings stopped their battle of wit and fell silent at once, and a moment later, Dumbledore and Harry reappeared.

"Sit down, Harry," the headmaster said.

"He believed it quicker than I did," Harry observed. "I didn't when Hagrid told me."

"Yes, Riddle believed it very quickly. He longed to be special, and being a wizard meant just that. I saw it, but I didn't recognize the danger it posed. Back then, I thought him to be an eager, ambitious child with a cruel streak. But then, we see it occasionally here at school, often in children from... less than ideal upbringings, mimicking the actions they witnessed. Cruelty begets cruelty. I intended to keep an eye on him, but didn't tell my colleagues. I didn't want to colour their impressions of him and give him a chance he might never have had before. You will also have noticed the extent of his abilities. He had already found a way to consciously use his magic to harm and terrorize. He had control over his magic before he arrived at school, a rare trait."

"And he had discovered Parseltongue," Harry pointed out.

"Yes, but it didn't trouble me as much as his talent and experience in harmful uses of magic. Parselmouths aren't evil or dark as such, and a lot of them probably led peaceful and productive lives without ever drawing attention to themselves. Slytherin himself was known to be judgmental and temperamental to the point that some of his contemporaries described him as malicious, but he also founded the school and certainly didn't spend his time butchering Muggles. Only a handful of his descendants were known for violence, yet the talent of Parseltongue passed down through the generations for a thousand years. No, Riddle's instincts for cruelty were more troubling for me.

"Before we part for the evening, I want to address certain characteristics of the young Riddle you have just seen.

"Firstly, he disliked being ordinary. When I mentioned Tom, the barman, young Riddle showed his contempt, one of the few emotions he showed in our encounter at all. He picked a new name for himself a few years after this meeting with me. He wanted to be special, and still does today.

"Secondly, he preferred to be independent. He didn't want my company. It is not unusual for both troubled and troubling children, but still a trait he showed back then. He was also secretive and intentionally distanced himself from others. He still does today, no matter what his followers may think.

"Thirdly, he already used fear rather than awe or love to control people. He still does today.

"Lastly, he collected trophies, worthless items he didn't use except to keep as reminders of his deeds."

"Which he still does today?" Harry finished the thought. "So, he's a thieving tyrant, who wants to be special and likes to work alone? Well, I'll have to deduct points for the stealing, but otherwise..."

Dumbledore smiled. "It is a good summary of his character. And yes, I do think he might collect trophies to remind him of his crimes."

"So he's also got a bad memory," Harry grumbled. "Maybe we should send him a Remembrall. Sir, is this really important?"

"I believe so, yes," Dumbledore replied. "Well then, Harry, please keep it in mind. And please do not spread the knowledge more than necessary."

"Yes, sir." Harry turned to leave, but stopped. "This is important, isn't it? Our lessons, these memories, they are of use?" Dumbledore nodded, and he continued, "Well, if they are and you already have the memories around, why don't we continue? It's still early. One more. The faster we're done with them, the faster we can make our move, the faster we can advance to the real preparations."

The Headmaster sighed. "While I admire your dedication, the next two memories will take a bit longer. They are also best seen on the same evening."

"Well, shouldn't we still continue with these lessons as soon as possible?" Harry asked. "Every day we don't act will cost lives, won't it? The sooner we stop him, the sooner the war ends and everyone is safe." He felt the piercing eyes of Dumbledore and decided, just to be on the safe side, to employ what little Occlumency he knew already.

"You are," the Headmaster said finally and with sorrow in his voice, "correct. Maybe I should speed up the process? I will think about it, but still, I want you to continue with your project. Both are important, and the more we advance our lessons here, the more important your skill in Charms will become."

Harry nodded, at walked to the door, but stopped once more. "Sir, there is nothing here. Last time, you had the ring, but today... nothing."

"You are correct. Good night, Harry."

* * *

Returning to the Common Room, Harry wanted to explain what he had learned to his friends. He didn't have time to search, though, as Ginny beckoned him over as soon as he had walked through the entrance. Curiosity getting the better of him, he strolled through the room and over to her.

"Evening, Harry," she greeted him lazily. Dean, who was sitting next to her, his arm around her waist, nodded to his dorm mate.

"Yeah, evening, you two. I've been looking for Ron and Hermione, I kind of expected them to be up," Harry told them.

Ginny smiled crookedly. "They're over in the corner," she pointed slowly in the general direction, "doing homework –or so they claim. Hermione more or less ordered Ron to get his stuff, and he did, but from the way they'be been acting, I guess he doesn't really make any progress. Hermione's stayed silent for the last quarter of an hour, pretending to read. But every once in a while, she throws these hidden glances at him, half angry, half pining. And the bit that counts as his mind isn't really there, but then, I guess that's the norm."

"And he hasn't done anything at all about you two sitting here, in open view, looking quite... comfortable?" Harry asked, curious about it. He knew of the fragile peace between Ron and Dean.

"If he knows what's good for him, he'll stay out of my business," she hissed.

"Err, Ginny... this is Ron we're talking about," Dean pointed out. "The only remaining Big Brother of yours at school. He'll get protective even if it isn't healthy. And to be honest, I'd be a hypocrite if I would get angry with him because of that. Perhaps it's a guy thing or something..."

"Well, he still has no right to butt into my love life! Whom I date is no one's business but mine," Ginny growled.

Harry smiled at her. "And the boy's, kind of."

"If necessary, yes," she agreed earnestly. "But otherwise... I don't bother him, do I?" She ignored Harry's "Kind of" as well as Dean's nervous attempt to avoid her eye and continued, "Exactly, I don't. And I don't have any business telling the twins what do to or whom to pursue."

"And yet, you have still tried to. Repeatedly, even," Harry countered, but already knew she wouldn't listen. Ginny wasn't interested in the truth, but in being right. If she had to disregard facts to do so, then so be it. Harry wondered for a moment if this was a Weasley trait as both Ron had the same problem from time to time, but ignored his thoughts. It didn't matter either way.

"Because they are idiots," Ginny scoffed. "On whose side are you, anyway?"

"The twins', and Ron's," Harry replied without pause, but took a seat. His two best friends could wait for a moment. "Sorry, but us boys have to stick together."

"Well, you're an idiot, then, but that's hardly news, is it?" Ginny told him. Dean fought back a smile, but kept silent. "The point is they have no right to tell me whom I may date. Even if I were to, I don't know, snog Dean senseless right here and now..."

"Which sounds like a plan if you ask me," said boy added.

"... Ron should still better keep not bother me. It's not his business. Would you jump in? Would you stop Dean and I from snogging the living daylights out of one another?"

"The plan sounds better every second," Dean threw in.

"I'm not a Prefect," Harry pointed out. "As far as I'm concerned, you can do whatever you want. Within reason, of course, but then, there aren't any first-years you could traumatize, and Dean, I'm guessing you probably like being alive too much to really do something stupid."

The other boy waved it off. "Living is overrated if you ask me."

"You would only intervene if you were a Prefect?" Ginny asked, blinking.

"Or if you'd shock children with your despicable acts of debauchery," Harry replied, shortly adopting a snotty tone. "Well, you aren't my sister, so I can't really start the Big Brother act. By the way, Dean, be good, alright? Where was I? Oh, yes. So, I can't scare off your boyfriends, I'm not your guardian or parent, so I also don't have that reason to step in. But you are right, I would also have to intervene if you went too far and Dean needed rescue."

"For the record, don't rescue me, alright?" Dean said, drawing his girlfriend closer.

"So... you wouldn't jump in to protect my virtue?" Ginny asked, pouting.

"I doubt I'd need to, or that it would be my place to do so, or that there is much reason to," Harry replied with a wave of his hand. "But enough about that, you waved me over?"

"Oh, yes," she said, frowning. "Two things, actually. First of all, I may need a bit of help with my schoolwork."

"I'm probably the wrong one to ask," Harry cautioned, "it's not like I am that good."

"You still managed to get an Exceeds Expectations in Potions, despite Snape's lessons," Ginny replied.

"That was simply luck, in a way. Without him breathing down my neck, Hermione's help beforehand, and my experience with mixing stuff under the scrutinizing glare of someone, not to mention my exceptional talent for cooking," Harry said with aroll of his eyes, "it just happened. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but there you go. But you know it is about equal parts theory, which you have to learn, and practical skill, something that comes with talent and experience."

"Alright, I get it," Ginny grumbled, "I'll ask Hermione then. Just thought I might spread my tutors a bit." She ignored Harry's quirked eyebrow and continued, "Secondly, I didn't want you to disturb my entertainment. Dean and I are waiting who will crack first, Ron or Hermione, and if you had walked over to them, they'd have stopped focusing on each other and dodging the responsibility of making the first step."

"Ah, well, that sounds like a noble reason," Harry chuckled. "And here I thought you had something important to relay from your parents or something."

"What do I look like, an owl?" Ginny protested.

Harry sighed. "No, but I know Ron doesn't really correspond with his parents so you are more likely to know something."

"How was he by the way?" Dean asked. Seeing the blank looks, he elaborated, "Detention with Snape, that's where you were, right?"

"Oh, that! Not today, actually," Harry replied. "Something came up, Snape couldn't do it." He would have to find out who had given him that alibi. It was both believable and reusable with how often Snape and Harry were at odds.

* * *

October went by without another lesson. However, Harry had still been very busy. For one, he had continued with his Occlumency training. Close to Halloween, he had had a breakthrough when he had been able to draw up his rudimentary defences without any noticeable decrease in mental capability. He had therefore begun improving them, adding layers and warnings.

Classes had also become more difficult, and with nonverbal casting required in almost all of them, Harry had seen a decrease in his performance. Not saying the incantations felt wrong somehow, as if something was missing even if the spells still worked. With the help of the Half-blood Prince, he had been keeping up in Potions, though, and with the time he didn't have to spend reading up on the class like he had needed to the past years, he had shifted his studying to Charms and Transfiguration. Much to Snape's frustration, Harry continued to show his exceptional talent in Defence against the Dark Arts, easily making up for his problems with nonverbal casting with speed and precision.

Of course, the biggest drain on his time had been Quidditch, much to Hermione's dislike. To everyone's surprise, Malfoy had resigned and made room for a replacement. A third year, Whipple, had taken over. Sharp-eyed, slender as a broom, he had little problem in the air or with sharp turns. Ron had been annoyed –a good Slytherin Seeker had made their match more challenging. Harry, however, had been happy. While he definitely liked winning, he preferred the challenge. Playing Slytherin had always been fighting against their continued cheating, including attempted attacks on players to take them out of commission or the interference of Snape. Playing Hufflepuff meant fair and occasionally capable players like Cedric had been one. Playing Ravenclaw was a constant attempt to outthink them, preparing dozens of ploys since each one only worked at most twice.

However, a capable Slytherin Seeker had proved to be an interesting rival. True, with years of experience backing him, Harry had caught the Snitch in their first match, but he had still seen Whipple's potential. With just over six weeks of training, the boy had done splendidly. Even better, however, had been his behaviour on the field. True, from what Harry had heard, he was occasionally nasty in class, but during the game, he had stayed well within the rules, a very welcome change from Malfoy. Harry had still caught the Snitch.

With surprisingly good weather for mid-November in Scotland, Harry had scheduled practice for the day, but found himself regretting it. Every muscle was still aching. True, he loved flying, enough to bear with the responsibility of Captaincy, especially since it was very demanding. As Seeker, he never had to be in top form, unlike the other players, but as Captain, he had to join them in all their muscle training, and since the other players needed strong upper bodies as well, he had to endure those exercises as well.

Just hours before, he had spent over two hours on the field, getting his players in form and then forcing endless repeats of plays on them, until, at three, Hufflepuff had arrived. Normally, that would have meant the end of it, but with Hufflepuffs being friendly and eager to test their strength, they had arranged a quick game between the teams that lasted another two and a half hours. Since no Snitch had been released, both Seekers had spent their time trying to outfly one another or act as human Bludgers. It had also meant straining both players and material to the limit.

As expected, both Hufflepuff and Gryffindors had played very well, stressing teamwork and fast paced plays. As a result, Ron had gotten a lot of pressure which had been painful to watch and absolutely necessary. He was still unreliable, occasionally playing unbelievably well and other times missing the easiest of catches. Still, after all was said and done, the teams had met on the ground and had congratulated each other.

Maybe he should do something with the other teams, Harry mused. Perhaps they could arrange a meeting on the next Hogwarts weekend? It might be fun, talking about Quidditch and enjoying time with the Hufflepuffs. The Ravenclaws were usually a bit serious, but still reasonably friendly. But then, they'd have to invite the Slytherins as well, and he somehow doubted it was a good idea to force them in the same room. Probably Gryffindors and Slytherins would only glare at each other, but stubbornly refuse to leave and let the others be victorious.

His eyes wandered over the common room. A lot of people were still at dinner, Ron being one of them. Hermione had retreated to a corner and read up on some obscure theory. Peakes and Coote were sitting in a corner, glaring half-heartedly at their Captain. Harry would have to give them a bit of time to forgive him. Furthermore, he really wanted to lean back and relax, and in a moment, he knew what he wanted to do. It was odd, really, how long it had taken him to think of it, especially since Hermione had told Ginny all about the Prefects' bathroom. Why she had done that, Harry didn't know. Ginny was not a Prefect and shouldn't enter it (Harry conveniently ignored his own excursion in fourth year). Maybe Hermione had simply wanted to tease her friend about it? Additionally, he hadn't pegged his bushy-haired friend to be one to talk about beauty or the many scented lotions available.

In any case, Harry had a goal in mind. He quickly made his way to the fifth floor. If he didn't waste any time, he would have about two hours until he'd have to be back in Gryffindor Tower around half past nine. Of course, since Harry followed Dumbledore's advice, he carried his invisibility cloak with him, so he wouldn't be caught either way. The Fat Lady wouldn't tell on him, she never did anyway, being more loyal to the house than the school. The patrols in school wouldn't see him as long as he didn't run into Mad-Eye. And even if he did, as long as Harry stayed vigilant, he might get away with it since Moody seemed to be the type to follow the intention of a law, not the letter.

Reaching his goal, Harry cast a quick glance around. True, he was allowed to enter since Quidditch Captains shared the privilege for an equally as obscure reason as the Prefects having a reserved bathroom in the middle of the school. But then, he really didn't want anyone overhearing the password. No one in sight, he murmured, "Eggleby" and ducked in. It was just as he remembered, from the smell in the air to the stalls on one side to the swimming pool-like tub on the other with the dozing mermaid made by Rosemary Eggleby on the wall behind it. But he frowned. The tub was filled, and the surface still covered thickly with bubbles, yet no one was there.

"Hello?" he called out and waited.

No answer came. Odd. Then again, Harry really didn't have that much experience with the bathroom, and it was entirely possible the tub was usually filled. Last time, he had snuck in after curfew; maybe the elves cleaned it over night? They had to at some time. At least, Harry hoped they did. Even if wizards weren't always the smartest bunch in the world, they had to have thought of that.

"Hello? Anyone here?"

Still nothing. Well, who was he to object a ready-made bath? He quickly disrobed, careful to wrap one of the towels around his waist. Even if he was technically alone, he still didn't want Myrtle to see anything should she decide to, once again, pop in unannounced.

Fortunately, she didn't. As he stepped into the water, he welcomed the warmth running over his body. Yes, this had been a brilliant idea. He could already feel his fatigue leaving as he waded through the water. Instead, his mind returned once more to the riddle of the Prefects' bathroom. Why had the Founders thought to include it? Had they, or had it been a later addition? And more importantly, why had the creators decided to include a tub of such an outrageous size in an easily accessible bathroom without the means to lock it? His mind wandered a bit, and he imagined the kind of misbehaviour taking place where he was. He really hoped the elves cleaned the room regularly.

Or maybe that was why it couldn't be locked? To ensure discipline, the threat of potential visitors in the middle of... well, naughtiness might be an intentional aspect of the design of the Prefects' bathroom. He certainly wouldn't act out if he had to fear Malfoy or Parkinson walking in on him. Then again, should the Prefects agree on some form of pact not to rat each other out...

How fortunate he had grown since his last visit to the bathroom so that his feet could reach the bottom, he thought, trying hard not to think about Malfoy and Parkinson coming to the bathroom and wishing he knew at least who had patrol duty later on. It would be his luck to be caught unawares by them, wouldn't it? Maybe he should follow Luna's example and put his wand behind his ear? But then, he reasoned, he was already halfway through the tub –what a weird thought, he realised –and doubling back up on the off-chance Malfoy and Parkinson had duty and chose to check on the bathroom...

Before he could finish his thought, his foot stubbed against something big and soft. Harry blinked confusedly and looked down, seeing nothing but the bubbles. How odd. Did the tub have seats in its middle like some pools did? He couldn't remember –last time he had concentrated on the egg and, admittedly, Myrtle. She'd probably be euphoric to know she had left such a strong impression, and at once, Harry vowed not to tell her or anyone else. Knowing his luck, someone would tell _Witch Weekly_ about the Boy-Who-Lived thinking about the ghost girl while he was in the bathtub.

Still his thoughts didn't solve the mystery at his feet. He felt around with his foot. Whatever it was, his initial thoughts were spot on. It was big, heavy even, if he had to guess, since he couldn't push it away with his foot, but seemed rather soft, like a cushion, in a way –too soft for a seat, at least. His curiosity getting the better of him, he dove in and looked down. For a wild second, he thought he had stumbled upon a mermaid lazily staring at the surface, her hair lazily wafting around her, before he remembered they wouldn't come to the Prefects' bathroom. Nor, now that he thought about it, did merpeople have pale, human faces or eyes. Then, his mind came to a screeching halt as the implications set in.

* * *

**Ah, finally got the explanation about the Mind Arts out there. I'd guess Bill might have learned about the Mind Arts somewhere on his journeys and knew just what the book meant. So there you go, Harry's got himself a Charms project for the time being.**


End file.
